Poisoned Dreams
by MistroStrings
Summary: SECOND IN THE SERIES (BOOK TWO). "So, Irene will be on the case now." Renadale mumbled rather unhappily. Holmes nodded, not having much more to add. Watson did however. "How splendid. Poison, AND Irene. This will be quite an amusing case." HolmesxOC
1. A New Beginning

**Hey everyone! As you can all tell what this is- it's HOLMES SEQUEL YAY! I'm jumping right into the story, FYI. I want to get things moving. :) And... yeah. Thanks again you guys! I love you all oh so very much, and thanks for the wishes on the musical! It'll be great and then no more drama shows for the rest of the school year which means fanfiction love! **

**Also, go check out my super awesome banners that TheSaintlikeWeasley made me! It's on my home page, and thanks again, they're amazing! :3**

**~mistro **

**Holmes quote of the chapter: ****Head cocked to the left, partial deafness in ear: first point of attack. Two: throat; paralyze vocal chords, stop scream. Three: got to be a heavy drinker, floating rib to the liver. Four: finally, drag in left leg, fist to patella. Summary prognosis: unconscious in ninety seconds, partial efficacy quarter of an hour at best. Full faculty recovery: unlikely. (RBJ, Sherlock Holmes 2009)**

**~.~.~.~**

_1 week later... _

I was sitting alone. The room surrounding me brought a fuzzy feeling into my stomach. Somehow I felt comfortable, although it wasn't my own. The scattered books, the empty glass, the melted candles... it made me peaceful. However, something in the room was missing; the entire reason I came.

I glanced outside as the sun was setting. The sky was finally clear from a couple days of rain. I wasn't sure at that moment about how long I had been waiting for Holmes to arrive home, but judging by the purple sky, it had been quite some time. My bottom lip began to droop and I considered leaving when I heard the door click open. I stood up quickly, meeting Watson's gaze. "Renadale?" His voice echoed surprise. "I thought you might be here, but I wasn't quite sure."

"Watson," I walked towards him and took his hands in my own. He looked surprised by the gesture, but I had to admit that by that point I was worried. "I've been sitting here for what feels like hours and he hasn't showed up. Unless of course, he came and left in such a blur that I somehow missed him."

Watson sighed heavily as he peeled off his hat. He still wore a smile, but it wasn't a comfortable one. I could tell by his face that his words were about to upset me. "He's at the rink."

"He's at the rink? Well, that's alright. I'll just go and meet him." I grabbed my coat, heading towards the door. Watson's hand stopped me before I could make it out. "Is everything alright?" I asked slowly. Judging by his twisted face, I assumed it wasn't.

"He tends to follow a path into bad habits when he doesn't have a case on his hands."

A small smirk spread across my face. "What can be so terribly wrong about watching a boxing match?" Playfully, I hit him with my glove. "Even I've gone to a round before."

"Yes, I suppose it's alright to _watch _it," Watson spat out quickly. "But on that note, he isn't _watching _it. I suppose he is, but he's as close as any viewer can get." I knew instantly what he was talking about. _What an idiot, _I thought. My heart began to pick up the pace along with my feet as they flew from the doorway. "Renadale, don't jump into anything!" I heard Watson call after me. His warning was a bit too late.

I was speeding down the road as fast as I could. I wasn't quite sure why I cared so much, but I felt as though I needed to get there right away and see what was happening with my own eyes. He was a male! So, was it so strange that he was engaging in a fight? No. Yet something was pulling at my heart. Imagining him getting hurt... and for fun? That was enough to set me off.

I was about to run through the arena's doors when a large man stopped me from entering. He peered down at me, obviously confused as to why I was there. "Are you sure you know where you're going?" I tried to shove past him, but he stopped me with a raise of his giant hand. "I asked you a question, lady."

Through a crack in the door, I could hear people hollaring and cheering. I could hear grunting and fists hitting chests and heads. "Is there a man named Sherlock Holmes fighting?" My toes lifted me from to floor in order to try and get a better view of things. It wasn't worth it; the guard's body was much too large. "I'm not a coward, I want to see the fight."

"Well, alright." His voice was bitter. "Excuse me for trying to help a young lady out."

In angst, I brushed past him, mumbling a curse beneath my breath. Right when I entered the room a wave of heat and stench flooded over me. Luckily, I blended in with the scenery in my drab colored dress. Men and woman alike surrounded me like sardines, raising fists and cheering for the fighters in the center. As I squirmed and pushed my way through, I finally made it towards the front.

Before I could even tell what was happening, a large body was flung at the edge where I was standing. I yelped in surprise, taking a step backwards as the man slumped to the dirt. The puncher was of course none other than Holmes. His eyes met mine for a moment before snapping away. He didn't realize it was me until the second time he looked, and when he did it was obvious that he was puzzled by my presence. "Holmes!" I shouted as the man crawled up from the floor. It was too late. The man's huge fist had already flung itself at the side of Sherlock's head. I gasped loudly while everyone else cheered. They were obviously not rooting for my boss.

My nails took the nerves I had as I bit away at them. My mother would always grumble at my bad habit, while my father would merely laugh, labeling them as quirks. "Come on!" I whispered beneath my breath. Of course I wanted him to win, but I wanted him to hurry up so I didn't have to watch all of this. This was his version of fun? I didn't know much about fun, but I was certain this wasn't it.

When I redirected my attention back to the fight, I noticed Holmes was pathetically slumped over in the opposite corner. My frown tightened. More than anything I wanted to crawl over the edge and carry him away, but the scene was not quite finished. The opponent was raising his fists high above his head as the audience around me drooled and fawned over the monster. What they didn't notice was that Holmes gathering himself, cracking his neck and rushing behind the man's back.

He didn't see what was coming next. I couldn't make out every move perfectly, but of what I could see happening in that blurry moment was Holmes kicking the man in the back and sending him forward. Without a second in between, Holmes brought two of his fists right onto his shoulders. The audience was growing quieter as every other move was made. There was a slap to the ear, a kick to the back of the knee, and before we all knew it, he was down.

Holmes extended his hand, and a hanky was quickly tossed to him. He whiped blood and sweat from his face and made his way towards the exit. I heard someone whisper, "That's what happened last time, but damn it, why didn't I put my money on it again?"

I saw him slurping booze from across the ring. He looked over at me with the bottle still pressed to his mouth. His body was covered in cuts, bruises and sweat- and for some strange reason, I felt motherly towards the situation. I wanted to rush him to water and clean his handsome face as best as I possibly could. I wanted to take care of him.

A shudder shot down my spine. That was too wife-like. I wasn't going to fall for him that badly.

It had been about a week since the case ended. I worked for him every day, more for the pleasure of being around one another, than actually working. He was actually quite timid about getting close. Yet, I was as well. We hadn't been... intimate, to be quite frank.

With my little knowledge of the social world, I couldn't tell if anyone had any real affection for me. In my head, I was always making up reasons why they wouldn't or shouldn't. All of them seemed reasonable and I merely applied them. Sometimes it made me gloomy, but I hoped that some day he would tell me that he was "quite fond of me".

I didn't see that day coming soon.

"Miss Adkins," a grouchy voice rang out. I hadn't even noticed that Holmes had come over. Perhaps it was because I was too busy with my thoughts. When wasn't I, though? He was standing there beside me without a shirt on, smelling of salt and beer. I winced at the mere sight of him. My fingers lifted and pressed themselves against his cheek. Others were beginning to watch, and he quickly made his way out.

After a minute or two- to make it look unsuspicious- I followed him to what I presumed were the rest rooms. If my mother would have seen that, she would have fallen over dead. Gently, I pushed open the door with my eyes closed. "Holmes, are you in here?"

I heard a grunt as I opened my eyes. He was standing by a bucket of water, lifting it up to his face and spitting it away from his cut mouth. "By your sudden appearance, I can presume that this was Watson's doing, correct?"

I nodded. He grunted once again, splashing more water onto his face. "I was waiting for you." He froze for a moment, startled by my words. "Watson knew I was waiting and he told me where you were. So, in all honesty, it was my fault. I'm sorry, I was worried..." My face began to grow hot. I sounded terribly stupid and motherly. He was a grown man! I had no right or reason to be worried about him.

"You were worried?" He mumbled.

Hesitantly, I took a step closer to him, trying to ignore the question. "Here, let me help you with that." I took a rag at the bottom of the red water and dipped into a clean tub. As I scrubbed, the dirt and blood began to disappear. "You've certainly made a pretty picture of yourself," I said softly with a smile on my face. He didn't say anything back, but his eyes were still upon me. "Do you do this often?"

"Only when credit is not being given."

He leaned back in surprise as I pressed the rag to a large gash on his cheek. "Oh, I'm sorry," I gasped. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He blinked a few times before taking my wrist and placing it back to his face. My head began to spin at this tiny gesture. "Alright, well... warn me if I'm putting you in any kind of pain."

I continued to do this, only I moved down to his shoulders and then his arms. Every time I dipped the rag back into the water, it would turn slightly more pink. I laughed as I peered inside the tub. "I think there's only blood left." He looked into the red water as well, a smile forming on his clean face.

"It's still mixed with the water. It will certainly make do."

So, I continued to dip it into the water and press it to his wounds. I was now dabbing away at his chest. Afraid he could see my blushing cheeks, I decided to strike up a conversation. "I knew you enjoyed watching the sport, but I had no idea that you liked fighting yourself."

"On the contrary, I _don't_ like fighting." He responded smoothly. "Normally, when one fights there is something they are fighting for... a specific target. And on that note, no man enjoys getting pounded without anything to get pounded for. Even then he hates it."

"So, why did you do it?"

He paused for a moment to think. "At any rate, it keeps me from lolly-gagging around my room, doesn't it? Everything is exactly where it should be. I don't have the heart to move even my own possessions."

His words made sense, but they stung. What about me? He would rather get his head smashed in then talk with me? "I see," I dutifully began dabbing at his stomach.

"I'm not stating that I would choose this over being with company," he said immediately. I tried my hardest not to smile. That was a good thing about a detective: he genuinely knew if something was wrong or not. "Well, I would, but your company would exceed any form of male brutality for sheer enjoyment, I assure you." I nodded, unable to hide my grin now. "However, I wasn't expecting you to come this evening."

My brows rose with curiosity. "Were you expecting someone else, rather?" I knew it was terribly annoying, but I brought up _the woman_ in every conversation since Watson had told us she was coming. Whoever she was, she wasn't here yet. And whoever she was, she was obviously a doll to win over Sherlock. "Were you expecting the woman in the photograph?"

"I was not expecting anyone, for your information." His words were rushed, and I noticed his face become particularily more flushed. Although it hurt me to think or say it, this woman had an obvious effect over Holmes. I couldn't tell if it was admiration, or hatred. Or perhaps both. "That gave me all the more reason to leave."

"Will you tell me more about her?"

"There is really nothing to say." Done with the conversation, he stood up and tossed his shirt on. It was apparent that I had upset him, but I wasn't about to let it go that easily.

"She's very lovely." He snorted and said nothing more. "In the picture, I mean. She looked almost too elegant to be living in London. I assume she's not since Watson said she was coming into town. Is she foreign?" He was tossing his coat on as quick as possible now. "Aha, I bet I know. She's American, isn't she? Americans are always lovely."

"I think it's best that we proceed to our humble abodes." He slammed the door shut as we left the restroom. "You are quite inquisitive, I'll give you that much. I admire your determination." He paused, sincerity arriving in his eyes. "I do not think of Irene in... that way."

Love.

I knew what he was talking about, he would just never utter it. "At any rate, I admire her wit, but she is a first rate criminal with too large of a nose in others affairs." He adjusted his cuff links. "That is all I will say on the subject."

"Do you think I'll like her?" My voice was teasing.

He blinked a couple of times, before he pulled open the door again. I walked outside as he followed me out. "Yes," he said, taking me by surprise. "Although, I desperately hope you two wouldn't get along. However, if you do not like her, I can gaurentee that she _will_ like you."

I scrunched my brows together. "Oh really? Why do you think that will be the case?"

"Because you are exactly what she isn't. And if anyone were like her, she would despise them. There is only one Irene Adler, and she intends to keep it that way." Without furthur explination, he headed off down the road, leaving me with only more questions.

~.~.~.~.~

The next morning, my mother and I decided to spend some time together as I requested time off from work. We were standing in a hat shop when I walked out in something large, blue and featherly. She sat, simply agog. "Renadale, you have no idea how beautiful you look!" Upon seeing myself in the mirror, I only felt more disgusted.

"Mother, I look like a blue-jay."

"Blue-jay? How lovely! All the more reason to buy it." She giddily clapped her hands together. "Here, let me buy it for you. You can wear it to that party Mister Madison is hosting next week."

I ripped the hat from my head and the unexpected news. "Party? You never told me I was attending any party. Even if you did, I wouldn't go. You of all people should know that! Besides, I must go to work."

"It's on a Saturday, dearest."

"Mother, I work every day of the week, if you haven't noticed my absence."

"You don't work in the evenings!" Her voice was almost like a song. She really expected me to go! She never drug me to parties anymore anyways. Why was this one so special? "There's a young gentleman I am simply dying for you to meet." She grinned wildly.

So _that _was why this one was different.

"Mother, I do not intended to like this man." I looked away before she could notice a tiny bit of curiosity creeping onto my face.

She came and took me by the hands. "Dearest, I know you have affection for Mister Holmes," I was about to protest, but she placed a gloved finger on my lips. "I'm your mother. I'm not ignorant. Yet, don't you worry that he might not actually wish to marry you?"

"Marriage?" I laughed bitterly as I pulled myself away. "That is _not _what I am looking for. In any case, of course he's not going to marry me."

"Dearest, that's what you should be looking for at your age! You're getting older... In a few years, you'll be headed towards thirty! You _need_ a husband... and this boy... Well, if I was a few years younger..."

I raised my hand in disgust. "If I go to the party, do you promise not to speak with me on this matter for another ten years?"

She bit her bottom lip, but it didn't take long for an agreement. "Yes, I accept! But only because I know that you will fall head over heels for this boy. He's handsome, intellegant, your age-"

"So, are you going to purchase the hat now?"

She squealed in delight, snatching it from my hands and rushing up to the counter with it. With a heavy sigh, I went to the threshold of the store. Everyone seemed so happy today. The sun was shining and the Thames was more blue today than I had ever seen it. I noticed a young boy on the edge of the street, raising papers above his head. I cringed, remembering Henry for a brief moment. The hapiness suddenly faded from my eyes. "Huge scandal!" The boy shouted. "Huge scandal involving the prime minister, read all about it!"

My ears perked up at the announcement. I looked back at my mother who was still purchasing the hat, and crossed the street. "May I see that paper?" I dropped a coin into his hand.

"I'm sorry Miss, but you're so lovely, I just can't lie to you." He had to be about thirteen at most, but I smiled in regard to his kindess. "There really is no scandal. The real news is about the poisoning. I don't think I should be shoutin' that out Miss. Ya see because then, no one will want to read it. They'll get scared, yea?" He stuck the nickel back out to me. "You can have it back, ya know."

"No," I mumbled, already attracted to the headline. "Keep it. I'll be buying this." He thanked me and I headed back towards the store where my mother waited.

"What on Earth have you got there? Are you educating yourself with scandals again?"

"Mother, look here. There's an article about a woman who was poisioned. They don't know who did it, but the girl sold herself." Sympathy washed through me. "She was so young."

My mother suddered. "That's quite a shame Renadale, but you should not be reading such things. You've already gotten yourself into quite enough excitement these past few weeks. Can't you just be finished already?" Shivers kept going down her spine.

"Mother...I'm terribly sorry, but I remembered that I had to return to work today." Holmes had to see the case. It would give him something to look into and I could stop worrying about him getting beat up.

My mother's eyes were sad. "But you promised me that you took the day off!"

"Yes, but I remembered that he changed his mind last minute." I kissed her on top of the head. "We don't want me getting fire now, do we? And at any rate, we got a _lovely_ hat out of this morning." My voice cracked. It was still hard for me to lie. "I'll be home before dinner, I promise!" I heard her call my name, but I was sprinting off to find Holmes once again.

I didn't even bother knocking on the door when I approached Baker St. The maids in the kitchens waved hello, but I was far too excited to respond. As I reached his door, I didn't prolong the wait. "Holmes!" I flung open the door with my face still buried in the paper. "Holmes, I think I've got the perfect case!" There was no response. After a moment of silence, I lifted my head.

Holmes and Watson were standing on one side of the room. Watson was looking at me, but Holmes was staring at the ground and staying silent.

"Hello."

My heart sunk as a melodic voice rung out behind me. I turned to see a superior woman with her hand outstretched. "You must be Renadale Adkins."

I wanted to be polite and take her hand, but I was too frozen with surprise. "Who are you?" I knew who she was. It was _the woman. _She was beautiful enough to make Aphrodite jealous and I couldn't believe that Holmes _wasn't _in love with her. Not for a second.

"How rude of me to not introduce myself." As she laughed, a perfectly white smile slipped across her rosy face. I winced. She was like a porcelain doll.

"I'm Irene Adler."


	2. Smiles are for Thinking

**Yay! Play is finally over. :) Sure hope you all haven't abandoned me just yet! **

**Infinite X's and O's!**

**~mistro**

I know I'm not the most talkitive of girls. I rather enjoy keeping to myself; I find solace and comfort in knowing that, if no one is there for me to talk to, I am perfectly capable of being alone. However, I am a bit protective. After my father died, I had to care for my mother by myself. Her nerves are quite bad and she can sometimes be a bit too much to handle. Yet, I love her and wish for her to be happy.

So, as I was sitting with Irene and Holmes, my mother's twitchy personality traits were being transfered over to me. My hands couldn't stop twirling around one another in my lap. My toes had a certain tapping to them that I couldn't seem to control. My hair was being pecked by my fingers almost constantly, and I felt like if I didn't get out of that room, I was absolutely going to burst through the window. All of this was happening because I was being protective.

I was being protective of myself.

She was radiating elegance. Her pink gown made from absolute silk made my dark green frock look like it was found under a carriage wheel on the street. Her dark hair and makeup made me look as though I were a twelve year old girl coming over for schooling lessons. She was, in other words, nearly perfect. The more she spoke, the furthur back I slumped into the sofa. My eyes would occassionally wander over to Holmes, but his were always transfixed on her. I could feel my weak heart breaking more and more every time I noticed it. It wasn't a familiar feeling- but it hurt more than I had expected.

"So there I was, in upstate New York, and I was discussing this and that with some prestigous people. Of course, I can't remember a week ago, but they mentioned some sort of murder affair in Chicago." She rolled her eyes as though it was nothing _she _couldn't handle. I wouldn't have been surprised if she _could_. "And then I hear that someone in London is making similar threats like the ones in Chicago. Of course, I was planning on just telegraphing you, but," she paused, smiling that pearl white smile again. "I figured it would be better if I came over and helped with the situation myself."

Holmes and I said nothing. She'd been talking for quite some time now, and neither of us wanted to interrupt her if she wasn't finished yet. She folded her hands nicely in her lap, and smiled in the silence. "Miss Adler, you're aware that crime displays itself in the papers here... as well as in America, I presume. Things may be similar." Holmes said a bit monotonously. The dreary tone in his voice made me a bit more curious, but when I noticed he was still transfixed upon her, I returned to my slump.

Her laughter sounded like a song. I raised a brow, wondering what people thought of my laugh. "Well of course I know that. But you don't understand what I'm trying to say to you. You see, this entire ordeal is causing quite a commotion in the states. The government, the people, even _other _criminals are frightened of how this is going to affect the country as we know it. If someone in London is planning to copy the moves... well then, it certainly must be stopped."

My mind was already whirling with questions. Not only was she beautiful, but she was confusing on top of it. "What exactly happened?" I asked softly.

She turned towards me with a rather shocked look on her face, as though she'd forgotten I was there. "Well, there was a whole big money affair, murder, and then a fire that ruined the World Fair!" She smiled at this, tossing her hands up dramatically. "Of course I was far too busy to pay much attention to it, but everyone was quite agog by the scene." I nodded and directed my gaze out the window. She and her... prestigous friends were becoming less interesting.

"I'm afraid you're being terribly blunt without any forshadowing," Holmes said again in a voice that was hard to understand. His eyes were fixed on the newspaper I had brought back for him. "Miss Adler, are you suggesting that since this case might be one of an enormous amount, we cannot solve the case without your knowledge?" Holmes and I both looked up at her, expecting an answer that would be fitting.

She closed her bright red lips, one corner lifting into a mischevious smirk. "Do you honestly think you could? After all, I'm the one who was over there. Not to mention, you're down one soldier. Could you really do it without a third?" Holmes opened his mouth to clarify that yes, in fact he could do it _alone _but she cut him off. "Watson really must tend to Mary. You wouldn't tear him away from her, would you? I was stopping by London on my trip to Morocco, so I figured I would drop in for a chat or two."

I grunted in amusement. She was stopping by London on her way to Morocco. How lovely, the girl was rich on top of everything else. Something was unsettling inside of me, however. She wasn't just stopping by for a chat. She _wanted _to see him. There was a reason. He had a picture of her and she came by for more than a visit. My heart began to ring in my ears. What if I wasn't really anything to Holmes at all? What if I was only a replacement for the creature in front of my eyes? By the way he looked at her, I could judge there was affection there... maybe even love? Was I being rational? I didn't know. All I knew was that my heart was breaking the longer I stayed in that room. If they did care for each other, I wouldn't let their seperation last any longer.

"I really must go," I mumbled out of breath as I rose from the couch. Irene stayed in her spot, nodding politely. Holmes shot up from his chair and took a step closer towards me. "No, please, sit back down. You have company" I whispered with my eyes glued to the floor. He stopped moving. Everything was still. "It was lovely meeting you, Irene," I blurted out before heading towards the door. I pulled it open and shut it with a slam, not even bothering to look back. Pathetically, I leaned against the door, trying to catch my breath.

What was I thinking? What made me believe that somehow I could fall for someone and have them return the affection? I was Renadale Adkins... The girl who sat alone inside of her house with spoons, jars and other useless things, trying to make them useful. It never worked though. All my life, I felt as though nothing had ever worked on _my_ side.

~.~.~.~

_"That is such a lovely drawing, my Renadale," Renadale's father said, leaning over his seven year old daughter as she drew at their kitchen table. "Is it our house?"_

_"Yes," she said, her voice high and lovely. "It's our cottage out in the flower fields." She held it up close to his face. "See? Can you see the wood? It's really good, isn't it daddy?" He laughed, scooping her up from the chair and twirling her around in her arms. _

_"Everything you draw is perfect." He nuzzled his nose against hers._

_Mrs. Adkins came through the door in a flurry, her plump face bright red. She peeled off her feathered hat, rushing up to her husband. "I must talk to you for a moment." They both paused, looking over at Renadale, who stared up at them with wide eyes. Her curiosity was always getting the better of her. "In the upstairs bedroom."_

_He nodded and then turned to Renadale. "Stay down here. I'll be back in a moment dear, and then you can draw another picture for me." Renadale nodded obediantly, but she knew that she was going to follow them once they got up there. What could she say? She was only 7. It was practically law to disobey her parents._

_And so, she waited until they went up the stairs. Moments later, she was outside the door, pressing her little ears up against it. She heard her mother's voice. "I just don't know how to tell her. It will break her heart, won't it? She'll hate me... She'll hate her own mother."_

_"We have to do it. We haven't got any more money to buy new livestock. Without them, we have no money left for the house. And your mother is sick. We'll be helping family out." She heard a small murmur escape her mothers lips. "There, there my darling don't cry. I shall tell Renadale. I'll tell her we're traveling, just like the characters in her books. We'll be going on an adventure."_

_Renadale backed away from the door, her eyes stinging with tears. Her father opened it, surprised to see her standing there. "Renadale-" He began._

_"No!" She shouted, running up to him and hitting him in the leg with her tiny balled fists. "I don't want to leave our house! I don't want to go on an adventure; I want to stay right here with my flowers!" _

_"Renadale, dear... We can't. We just can't. Grandmother is sick, don't you want to see her too? She has flowers for you. You can see her flowers." Renadale was sobbing uncontrollably. Her father scooped her up in his arms this time as she clung desperately to his neck. "My dearest, shush... Calm yourself my dearest..." _

~.~.~.~.~

The door suddenly opened and I felt my body fly backwards as I leaned against it. I nearly shouted at the sudden surprise, but someone's arms found me before I had the chance to. I heard the door click and I spun around to see Holmes standing there, his face rather red. "Good afternoon Miss Adkins," he mumbled, awkwardly looking at me.

I puffed, but said nothing. Did he come out here to tell me that Irene was possibly the woman of his dreams and that, he was terribly sorry but he could no longer see me now that she was here? "I can tell you are distressed."

"No," I muttered steamily. "I am not distressed. You have the wrong adjective. I'm unsure. I'm uncertain. I'm nervous, and I'm embarassed. I'm anything but distressed." He looked at me blankly. "Alright, alright, I'm distressed, but don't I have every reason for it?" I dropped my voice to a whisper, hoping Irene wasn't listening in on our conversation.

"Miss Adkins," He said, stepping closer to me. Our faces were three inches away. That's not entirely far, mathematically. In person, I felt like our noses were touching. Both of us were breathing heavily. We weren't quite sure about how to react to what had happened with Irene. I was anxiously awaiting for him to say something else, but he merely stared at me. "I..." I waited, biting my bottom lip. The longer he stared at me, the more I couldn't help thinking about how I was nothing like Irene.

He took another step closer- just enough to make our lips meet. My eyes stayed open as I watched him kiss me. Well... he _looked _like he meant it, in any case. Was that supposed to happen? He broke free from me, my face pink like the American's dress. "You seemed distressed."

"I... I am." Once again, he stepped closer. And once again he kissed me, but this time more meaningful, urgent and less hesitant. I felt my knees buckle beneath my dress, but his arms quickly found me, keeping me in place. "Thanks for that," I mumbled against his lips.

The door opened and in a daze Holmes broke away from me. Irene looked at the two of us as we smiled fakely from across the hallway. Amusement was drawn all over her features. She wasn't an idiot. She knew. "It's quite a nice day outside." She placed her parasol on her shoulder. "Shall we all take a walk?"

~.~.~.~

Yes, I am clever. I am intellegant. However, the certain scene I now found myself in was not something I could understand with books. I couldn't understand it with common sense, either. Irene had only wanted to walk with me. She blatantly dismissed Holmes, took my arm, and led me outside without any word of my approval.

We were now a few minutes away from his house with my arm wrapped through her's. I looked over at her every once and a while only to find that she was merely smiling. It was a half smile that displayed some kind of mischevious plan. "So, Renadale," she said after what felt like a life time. "You must tell me everything about you."

"There's... not much to tell, really," I muttered, my eyes glued to the cobblestones. "My father studied life. My mother gossips, and I merely do what I am asked of."

She puckered out her bright red lips. "That's quite fascinating. Now, do you have a job yourself? Honestly, Renadale, us women are far more suitable to do work than men. We pay much more attention and we are much more attentitive and careful." She quickly grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to her as a carriage swung past me. "Well, most of us." My cheeks were burning.

"I do have a job," I mumbled, breaking free from her grasp. I didn't want my grimy old dress to get her glossy one dirty. "I work for Mister Holmes."

"He doesn't prefer that," she said casually, spinning her parasol through her fingers. "Sherlock really often doesn't keep his maids around too long. And if he does, he doesn't normally choose people like you." I met her eyes, surprised to see she was smiling. "You know; young and beautiful ones."

My eyes were shifting back towards the ground. "I think you're mistaken on that note," I muttered beneath my breath, too soft for her to hear.

"I came by to inform him about the case, but I certainly wasn't expecting you." My wishes that she would stop talking about me were obviously not being answered. "He doesn't keep women around the house." She paused, nudging me a bit. "Well, not women like you anyways. I've never seen him quite so fond of someone."

"He's not fond of me," I spat out quickly. To be honest, I wasn't sure what he thought of me. Even though he held me like he cared, even though he looked at me like he cared... I wasn't sure.

She was right. He had never really been in love, it seemed. Could he ever know what it was like? How could he? And how would I know if it was real? Pathetically, I sighed. All I knew was that I was falling for him. "He's merely a companion." For now, I tried to protect his image.

"Don't try and fool me," she snickered. "I know a blushing man when I see one." I couldn't hide another scoff. I bet she did.

We turned a corner to see another young boy selling newspapers, shouting the same headline. Murder! Murder! Poison! Poison! Read all about it! I felt her arm suddenly lace through mine. I looked up at her in confusion as we stopped. "You are in dire need of a hat," she said, smiling at me. I looked up and noticed that we were outside of another hat shop. "Let me get one for you."

My eyes grew wide. Not only was I not entirely sure about how I felt about Miss Adler yet, but hats were also extremely expensive for my budget. My entire life, I'd only worn one: my father's newsboy cap. It wasn't my mother's favorite, but it was warm and comfortable- which is what hats should be like. Yet, as I peered into the window, I couldn't help but admire. Before I could reject, I felt Irene pull me inside. The woman at the counter smiled towards us.

"Hello Gwendolen," Irene smiled, hugging the frail woman.

"Irene, why it's been years since you've stopped here!" She laughed, stepping back as though to get a better look at the beautiful woman before her. I stood awkwardly at the threshold.

Irene adjusted the large black hat with roses on her head. "And I still pick your items over anything else in the world, I shall tell you that much." I saw her look up at me. She extended her hand. "I want you to meet my new friend, Renadale."

I said nothing. I didn't take her hand; I didn't move at all. Her friend? Why was she doing all of this? It didn't seem right, but then again, I couldn't just reject her. "Hello," I mumbled, stepping forward and shaking Gwendolen's wrinkled hand. "How do you do? Your hats are quite charming."

"I see you're not wearing one yourself," she noted with an obvious frown on her face. It was apparent I was not quite in style enough for her shop. I could feel my feet shifting as my face grew hot. I didn't go out in public that much, let alone shoppping. And, I was never proud of myself. I had never been proud of the way I looked, dressed, talked, walked- or anything for that matter. Being in that little shop made me realize how low I was compared to many women. Even if they didn't have money, they tried to look decent. At least they could say that much.

"Have you got something for her? I was thinking with her beautiful green eyes, you could go for something like an emerald." Irene and Gwendolen both turned towards me. "Yes," Irene said nodding. "Emerald would be charming."

The two began to chatter as they walked off to go and get a hat. I remained in the center of the room, uncomfortable and out of place. These were the items in life that people bought and didn't need. The more I looked, the more I wanted to go home and toss on my newsboy cap.

What would happen if I just left? Irene wouldn't have to spend her money. Gwendolen wouldn't have to waste her time. I wouldn't have to feel awkward. Perhaps, if I were to just leave while thier backs were turned, they would never notice.

So, I did.

I turned on my heels and I bolted as far away from that store as I possibly could. I knew my mother wasn't home, but that's where I wanted to go. I just wanted to be alone: me and my cap. That sounded quite alright. As I flung into my door a couple blocks down, I rushed up the stairs while nearly tripping over my dress. When I finally made it to my room, I pulled the cap off of the corner of my bed and tossed it happily on my head.

I then made my way back outside and to the side of my building. I grabbed onto the ladder that Holmes, Watson and I had hesitantly (Well, I suppose that was just me.) climbed up only days ago, to finally be as alone as I wanted. Luckily not too many people walked down our small street and even if they did, they wouldn't care if they would have seen a young lady scooting her way up a rusty old ladder. Yes. I lived in_ that_ part of London.

As I squirmed my way up to the top, I sighed a sigh of relief. I was completely alone. I took a step furthur onto the roof and looked around. For miles it seemed, only other roofs stretched across. I could see the Thames from where I stood, with boats and docks lined up for new stories to be made.

I had come up here a lot the past few days to think. Sometimes you need to get rid of your fear to find things you end up loving. I had to get over my fear of heights to find that place.

I had to get over my fear of people to find Holmes.

See? Fears open doors sometimes.

I sat down, leaning back and simply staring at the grey sky of London. There was nothing special about it- nothing distracting. It was the perfect place to think. As I sat there, a smile slid across my face. Maybe it wasn't white and perfect, but it was genuine.


	3. Adler vs Adkins

**Prom was this weekend! So, that's why it took me a while for this baby to come. But, voila, here it is! :) I also sat down and read each and one of your reviews, of course loving them all and thanking Ghandi/Zeus/God/Sheldon Cooper, whoever you believe in that you guys are here for me, supporting this little story on Fanfiction. I write for you guys, so keep them reviews a flowin'!**

**Infinite X's and O's,**

**mistro**

**P.S. Kazz- I love your long reviews. I love any size reviews. :] So, you just say whatever you want to say, even if it takes up 200 pages, and I'll read it all! 3 **

~.~.~.~

I wasn't sure how long I had been sitting there. I remember watching the sun sink a bit lower beneath the edge of the roof. The sky was more purple and pink now than it had been before. It must have been a while because I could feel my eye lids drooping. I was about to go back inside when I heard someone coming up the ladder. My eyes grew wide with fear of the unknown, and I quickly jumped to my feet, trying to find somewhere to hide. By the time I had stood up, it was already too late. I was accompanied on the roof by none other than... "Watson?" I asked curiously, cocking my head to the side.

He politely inclined his head, peeling his hat off. "I knew you would be here. I'm not a complete fool, though it might surprise you." His lips curled into a smile as he sunk down next to me tiredly. "I've been looking for you all over the place. Figures, the only place I hadn't thought to check is the one place you always seem to be these days."

Quietly, I sat down next to him. He was here to talk to me about running away from Irene. It wasn't a surprise that Sherlock hadn't tried to find me. He wasn't one for personal chats. I pulled my knees quietly up to my chest, staring forward at the sunset. Neither of us said anything for a while.

"I heard things with Irene didn't go entirely like she had planned," Watson said suddenly, looking over at me with that friendly smile. Embarassed, I turned my face away and pulled my knees closer towards my chest. "She came back to Holmes's room. She was going off about she turned around and suddenly you weren't there. Someone walked out on Irene, and she couldn't even begin to fathom why!" Watson continued to laugh, enjoying the humor of it all.

"What I did was rude, I suppose," I muttered. "It's just that... ever since she walked into the room, I haven't known how to present myself before her. I'd never really been around someone quite so intimidating. She offered to buy me a _hat_ Watson." We both looked at one another in surprise. "Do you really think I'm the kind of person to let someone do that for me? Do you really think I'm the kind of person to wear the kinds of hats she does?"

He shook his head, still grinning. "Not in the least." I was glad to see that _someone_ understood. "At any rate, Holmes didn't say anything. He didn't even blink, if I can recall. He was just as surprised to see that someone had walked out on Irene as she was."

"Then why did you come looking for me?"

He stared ahead with calmness in his gaze. "I knew he wanted me to. It was apparent in his face. We both just wanted to make sure you were alright." I knotted my fingers together tightly. Was I? "You've been a bit quiet this past week." He stopped sort, as though a realization hit him. "It's not because of her, is it?"

I instantly detatched my eyes from his. Did I really know? Something in the back of my head was drawing forward memories of loss that I've had. I had thought about them before, but never all at the same time. "I couldn't tell you," I confessed. "Nightmares of my childhood are coming back to haunt me. Times of sweetness even come to me as darkness. It's as though I'm looking at my own life before my eyes, like I haven't done anything to make it better or worse... as though everything in my life has happened for nothing." My mind shifted towards my father. His warm laugh. His gentle heart. Imagining his face brought tears to my eyes, even though I told myself not to cry in front of anyone. None of that seemed to matter anymore. I was tired of containing myself. Watson had noticed though, and instantly rushed to stop my tears.

"Renadale, don't apply all of this extra pressure onto yourself." His concern was genuine. "You've been dealing with a murderer for the past few weeks, and you were surrounded by hurt and death. It's only natural for you tell feel this way. In time, when you've dealt with more of these kinds of situations, you'll grow more accustom to their reactions."

I looked up at him, his face blurred through my tears. "You're right. You're always right... There's no reason for me to be acting like this... it must be my sensitive emotions at seeing those women get killed." That was not a lie, though it wasn't the entire reason. I had tried often not to think about my first case in fear of being emotionally compromised. "I'm only making a fool of myself in front of you." I laughed behind my running nose. "You won't have to see me do that anymore though, now that you won't be working with us."

"On the contrary, Miss Adkins." I sat up with interest. What did he mean by that? "I understand that I'm in the middle of an engagement, but to my fortune, it is to Mary, and Mary has told me to keep on the case. We can work between days to get things ready."

My brows lifted in shock. Mary was a sweet woman, but as a bride, it was unusual to give her groom so much freedom. She would sacrifice that? I breathed a sigh of relief. With Watson back on the case with us, I would feel much more comfortable with Irene being there. "You don't know how terribly glad I am. Without you there, it would have been horribly uncomfortable, wouldn't you think?"

He glanced at me with a wide-eyed look. And with a single chuckle, he replied. "Horribly."

~.~.~.~.~

We were all attatched to the case now, so all four of us squeezed into a carriage as we were getting ready to visit the crime scene. Irene and I sat uncomfortably close to one another; feathers from her hat tickling my face. I looked out the window for as much of the ride as I possibly could in order to get away from the large red feathers.

We all sat silently as the carriage began to move. Watson and Irene were across from one another, and Holmes and I parallel. Without looking at him, I could feel his eyes drilling themselves onto my face. My palms were sweating beneath my worn out gloves. I wasn't sure how long we were all going to be in there, but I was certainly expecting an... _interesting_ trip.

"So," Irene said, cracking a smile. We all turned our attention to her, secretly frustrated that someone decided to talk. In the awkward situation, silence was not minded. "I was thinking this whole situation over last night. Presumably, it will be quite an easy case to crack. His methods seem to be similar of other recent murderers." She rolled her eyes as if she were amused with a small child, and not a serious murderer. "Whoever he is, he lacks creativity. He'll mock the murders of others. That should make it easier to track down, wouldn't you agree?"

"You said he lacks creativity," I muttered lowly. "I often think of creativity as an expression of one's soul. Could you compare murders to such a thing?" Irene couldn't resist twisting her face into something sour. She tried her best to plaster a smile on, but it came out as a scowl. Watson tried to stiffle a laugh. Had I dared to mock Irene Adler? Calmly, I re-directed my gaze back towards the window. "It was just an observation."

Irene stayed silent for quite some time. I felt something soft nudge my foot, and glancing up I saw Holmes also looking out the window. He was smiling beneath the brim of his hat, tucked down far enough for Irene not to see his expression. I kicked his foot gently back, looking into his eyes this time and giving him a wink of amusement. He warmly returned it. "In any case, all I was saying was that we have four people to solve one case that won't even take that much time," she chuckled. I didn't see how it was funny. Was she suggesting we get rid of someone? My face dropped.

I assumed she meant me.

"Luckily for you Miss Adler, I won't be attending the case tomorrow," I said calmly. All three of them looked up at me. Watson and Holmes with surprise, Irene with a bit of happiness. "If your emotional needs for one of us to leave the case are being expressed through your last statement, then for tomorrow, you shall have your wish."

Watson snickered aloud this time, trying to stop himself as quickly as he could. Irene's gaze grew cold, but I merely offered her a smile. I wasn't sure why I was being so stubborn.

"Might I inquire as to why you won't be joining us tomorrow?" Holmes's voice was a bit frantic.

Slowly, I met his eyes. In my attempt to embarass Irene, I hadn't realized that I would potentially be offending Holmes. "I'm attending a party." My voice was smooth. I wasn't about to let him know that it was practically a blinde date. "It's been set up by my mother."

"Oh yes, how could I forget such a thing?" Irene laughed suddenly. I curiously looked over at her, unsure of what she was getting at. "I saw your mother yesterday. She had stopped by in the shop after you left. She was going to buy you something for that little _party_ tomorrow." My eyes grew wide. It was only seconds until Irene let out the truth. "She said you were going to meet someone? A young gentleman?" Her smile was horribly fake, and I no longer pretended not to be frustrated with her. Angst was clearly sketched behind my piercing glare. "That's very exciting. You will have to let all of us know how things go." She smiled once more, looking over at Holmes. "Especially Sherlock. I'm sure he'd love to know how his favorite worker is doing."

I felt myself sink lower in my chair. Watson didn't laugh this time. Holmes most definitly wasn't laughing. I had failed to come out on top of Irene Adler.

As upset as I was, I wasn't surprised.

~.~.~.~.~

Once the ride was finally over, a ride that took nearly an hour of silence, we reached a small house located in the English countryside. Long, pebbled roads and old mansions loomed over hills of bright green grasses and yellow flowers. My heart strings were being pulled just looking at it. The last time I had been somewhere like there was when we lived in our country house. My one true comfort zone.

Our carriage stopped just outside of the house and we all climbed out of the carriage in a hurry. All of us were ready to get out of there. An elderly couple met us outside, their faces tight like old leather. The man's arm was wrapped tightly around his wife's waist as she bit her nails nervously. There were a few other inspectors, but other than that, we were alone.

I approached the woman, noticing her blood shot eyes the closer I got. "Hello, you must be Mrs. Caldwell." She took her hand away from her face, nodding slightly. "My name is Renadale. It's very nice to meet you."

I heard the rest of the team come up behind me after they finished talking to the inspectors. I was the kind of person who just wanted to make sure that the victim's loved ones could be comfortable with us walking around their personal homes. I know I wouldn't feel comfortable if some grouchy detective was wandering around my house. So, I painted a picture of sincerity for them. "Please find the man who killed my son." Her voice was nearly gone. "Please, help us..." She buried herself furthur into her husband's chest.

Holmes refused to look at me as I struggled to gain his attention. I knew it wasn't what I should have been thinking about at the time, but was he angry about me seeing someone? I pushed the thought away for the moment and followed him into the house. "Peices of the body were missing," Watson whispered in my ear behind me as we entered the house. "Apparently the body was poisoned and then the parts were removed."

I flinched, scared to look behind doors and under tables. "Any reasonable ideas as to why that is?"

Watson's expression was stern. "Why do murderers do anything they do?" That was a valid point.

The door creaked open as Holmes took a step forward. There was nothing particularily interesting about the bedroom. The boy had a few books stacked up on top of one another. A bed with a quilted blanket was in the far corner and a desk laid next to the door. Other that that, there wasn't much to it. "How old was your son?" We all turned to face the Caldwells.

"Seventeen," she whimpered, shaking her head back and forth. "My poor boy was only seventeen years old." Her tears began to catch up with her and in moments she was letting loose her sobs. Her husband gently led her to a chair in the living room before coming back to us.

"Excuse my wife," he said softly. "She can't control herself. I'll answer anything you'd like to know."

Holmes spoke up as he let his fingers lazily trail the book spines. "Your son... did he have any friends with any mental or social problems? Anyone in the family?"

The man scrunched his face up while he pondered. "No one in the family that I can recall. Occasionally he would be out in the city with his friends on the weekends, but none of them showed any signs of issues. Unless he was seeing someone in the town, I can't say he did. Why do you ask?"

"Every single one of those books in your son's room deals with pshycology. He's fascinated by it. In his mind, he wants to help victims of issues that their brains are forcing them to have. Often when one wishes to help these people, he is in close relations with them."

"Yes," his father said with a smile. "He always tried to help people; even people he didn't know. Whenever the family would go into town, he would approach poor people on the streets and ask if there was anything they could help him with." The man snickered, lightly dabbing away tears. "Most of them told him to just stop his talking and give them cash. Michael would just smile and tell them to have a nice day. He was a curious boy, but he was a sweetheart."

"Potentially one of these people could have had a deeper connection to Michael than a random bum on the street," Watson said. "When he went into town with his friends, he could have easily been giving advice to someone. Perhaps, Michael's killer was one of these people, or someone who knew them."

We continued looking through the room. Nothing was disturbed. It almost seemed illogical that anyone was murdered there. Yet, a single drop of poison was enough. We later learned that his body was taken outside. Certain parts had been removed and left near their well, but the rest of it was no where to be found. While the three of them went outside to inspect things, I stayed indoors with the mother and father.

Silence was always comforting. Thinking about things such as murder is difficult to undertake, but talking about it sets some stress free. "Would you like to tell me something about Michael?" I suggested to his mother as I joined her on their couch.

She looked over at me in surprise. "You would like to know about my son?"

"I would love to know about your son."

A huge smile slid across her face; one that made it seem like he wasn't gone at all. "He's the most handsome boy anyone could ever see." Her words remained in present tense. She didn't want to give up on him just yet. Her wrinkled fingers grabbed a photograph off a table beside her. A wide eyed, fair-skinned boy was grinning back at me. She was right; he was handsome. "He's just lovely. He is gentle and forgiving. I don't think he ever cried as a baby, or ever raised his voice as grown man. My son was a gift from God, and..." Her chocolate eyes began to swell up with tears. "Well, now God's decided that he would like him back."

"He's wonderful. I wish I could have known him." I offered her a gentle smile. She took it generously, trying her best to give one in return.

"Miss Adkins, you are needed outside." A low voice said from the doorway. I looked up to see Holmes, his face blank. He was frustrated with me, that was obvious. Carefully, I stood up and followed him outside.

Something had to be done. I couldn't have him being frigid with me all week. I couldn't let Irene see his irritation. It would be too much of an invite for her, and cause too much pain for me.

Before we walked out to the back of the yard, I grabbed his collar and pulled him closer towards me. His eyes grew wide and I couldn't tell if it was from excitement or furiosity. "Talk to me for a moment, please," I begged in a whisper. When I knew he wouldn't walk away from me, I released his collar from my strong grip. My eyes averted to the ground, my heart rate increasing. "You are upset with me... That is quite clear."

Holmes raised a brow. "Upset? Miss Adkins, I am surprised by your conclusion. I can't seem to solve where you got it from." His teeth were clenched as he spoke to me. That was a clear enough answer that he was being sarcastic.

I hesitated as I realized my body was only a few inches away from his. His legs weren't moving and even his chest had relaxed. He was a stoic as a gargoyle. It was always like this: He reamined calm, while I was nervous out of my mind. "Do not try to hide it, you're upset about something. Ever since Irene mentioned that I was meeting someone tomorrow..."

"You suggest that I am upset with you within an hour's time since that statement was declared," he muttered, his eyes breaking and looking towards the ground. "I don't think it's reasonable for you to make such assumptions, Miss Adkins."

"They're not assumptions!" I whispered harshly. "I know you better than that. I can tell you are frustrated about the situation, but I assure you I was not the one to plan it."

His eyes lifted again. Somehow our inches had shrunken to centimeters. "Yet you intend to go along with it."

"It is a party. A mere party, and yes, I will attend. And yes, I will meet this man. That does not mean I will be fond of him. I have no intention of that."

"And if you are?" He asked, his beautiful eyes darting across my face.

I shook my head. "That will not happen."

He took a step away from me. "Do not plan ahead. If you are fond of him, it shall be a convienence that your mother had paired you." He smirked, almost seeming... comfortable with the idea. "If something were to happen between you two, I would very much love to hear about it. After all, you are my most prized maid, as Irene had pointed out. However, this is not what we have come here to discuss. So, if you do not mind..." He turned on his heels, walking into the back yard.

I stood alone on the side of the house. I didn't want to join them and have them notice the ruddiness of my cheeks. I didn't want to hear their scientific terms for death like it was some sort of math equation. In fact, I would have chosen a party over it. All I wanted was for Sherlock to reassure me that it didn't bother him. But, it did. He made it clear that he would not try and force any more of his feelings upon me, when in reality, that was all I wanted.

With a groan, I leaned against the wall and buried my face in my shaking hands. What new mess was I getting myself into?


	4. Sonata

**Okay, I'm going to start off by saying that WOW you guys review pretty darn fast. And, I love you for it. And to Kazz- I think you just passed all records of longest reviews typed ever with flying colors. But I love all of your reviews, and actually, you guys brought up some pretty wonderful ideas that wouldn't have even of crossed my mind... Including perhaps a brief Holmes POV? I think I'll do that next chapter... I must admit, I am a wee bit frightened to jump into the head of our beloved Holmes. I'm afraid of what I shall find. **

**:) Anyways, here's the new chapter. An update. A story plot moving. A tale. An adventure. A love triange. An elephant. A monk. A pink diamond the size of your head. Yes... this is what this chapter is... AND MORE... *mystical music* **

**Infinte X's and O's,**

**~mistro~**

**Sherlock quote of the chapter: "Watson, you idiot. Somebody stole our tent..."**

**~.~.~.~.~**

Later that evening, when we had returned back to London and away from the beautiful countryside (Which I could have stayed at for a much longer extension of time) we had to go to Watson's 'inspection' of what was found of the young boy's body. I wasn't keen on going, but I held my tongue. What kind of detective flinches at the sight of a dead body? Well, I'll tell you.

A detective who isn't really a detective.

In other words, Renadale Adkins.

"Parts of his intestines seem to be removed," Watson said, hovering over the mangled torso. His gloves hands were poking in spots that I knew if I turned around and saw, I would gag at on the spot. Irene and Sherlock watched him curiously, as I whimpered in the corner. _Why didn't I leave when I had the chance? _"His main organs still seem to be in tact. His heart, his lungs and his stomach seem almost untouched. It's as though everything was taken with extreme care and precision..." I clamped a hand over my mouth, trying not to let my breakfast come back to me.

"Whoever the murderer is, he's got to have a good knowledge of anatomy." Irene said, almost casually. "He's probably of a higher ranking. Maybe he's killing for science; for mere studies."

I wrapped my arms furthur around my stomach, shutting my eyes. I didn't want to hear any more talk about it. I didn't care if I wasn't a good detective- I just wanted to go home and thank my lucky stars that my body was still together in one peice.

Holmes hummed lowly, curiosity taking over his vocal chords. I could hear him picking up tools on the medical table. There was a silence, as I imagined him poking around the body as well. "He did not take the body parts for his own use. He's not keeping them for himself."

I turned around then, meeting eyes with anyone but the open boy on the table. Unfortunately, I caught Sherlock's. Unfortunately, he was looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face. Unfortunately, I wasn't unaccustomed to those looks. "Why on Earth would he do that? And how could you possibly tell?"

"If a killer wished the organ to be for himself, he would not have cut around the others so congenially. His precision is accounted for, and noted. It is most likely that he is handing them off. A small possibility would be for research, but on a large and more reliable scale, he is probably selling them for money." Tormenting my heart, he faced Irene. "Mocking criminals, you said? Have there been any notations of this kind of act?"

She nodded, stepping closer towards him. My wrists suddenly began to hurt, and I noticed my fists were so tightly clenched to stop my shaking hands, that my knuckles were turning white. "Yes, I've heard some reports of it." Her face light up instantly. "His last name was Holmes, actually." All of our heads snapped in the detective's direction. "He sold skeletons for money, so scientists could better study them."

We all stared at him to see if he was bothered by the similarity in name. He blinked a few times, seemingly unfazed. "Yes, quite fascinating."

"So, he must have some direct connections to London's scientists. The only problem is, we're not certain if this is the actual case. And even if it is, we don't know which of the hundreds of scientists he's giving these body parts to." Watson grumbled, folding a blanket over the body. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"My dear Watson, of course this is not a counterintuitive intention. All we must do is ascertain the scientist who just so happens to be retrieving those select body parts." He pounded the floor loudly with his cane. "And we shall start tomorrow, with the exception of Miss Adkins."

His voice was so simple and straightforward. He didn't seemed to be bothered anymore by the fact that I would be with someone else. I knew I should have been glad, but in the back of my mind, I wondered if I was. "Miss Adkins can certainly help us the next day," the surprisingly gentle American accent floated into my ear. I looked over at Irene in confusion. "We obviously will get things done, but we'll leave room for you to search as well."

_What_? I shouted in my head. _Was she being _nice _to me_? Now this woman was utterly bedeviling. Could she be trying to play with my mind? Or maybe, though improbable, was she actually attempting to get over our foolish bickering and form a relationship? I grunted in appreciation, not wanting to deal with her at that moment. My mind was already tired enough.

It was late by the time we left, but it was London, so it was still busy. We all walked in silence for a while. Irene and Holmes fell behind me and Watson, but I could hear them speaking,catching a few phrases spoken by Adler here and there...

"... Certainly, and the diamonds too ..."

"... Oh yes, you would be curious to know, wouldn't you?..."

"... You swore you'd never bring that back up ..."

"... It was your fault for not noticing the handcuffs..."

... and others spoken by Holmes.

"It's not unusual for you to take the rest of the money, as I'm aware..."

"... How long had you two exactly been with one another?..."

"...Well, you've certainly had many pleasant and not so pleasant bridge memories, haven't you?..."

"...I'm afraid I don't trust being in that situation again..."

A small choke was forming in my throat and I figured if I were to dare open my mouth, a little whimper would only be heard. Watson had noticed, but he offered me a smile despite my mood. "It's not as bad as you suspect."

A curt laugh fell from my lips. "It's not?"

He shook his head, his voice turning more Doctor rather than friend. "Acts of performing jealousy aren't common with Holmes. For him, he probably views the situation as a meaningful and nostalgic memory chat."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he thought otherwise."

Watson was silent for a moment. "Why does it bother you?" Did he not know of my affections? Was I really that subte?

"Well... it bothers me because..."

The words could not form themselves on my tongue. Why was he making me say it aloud? Was this some kind of emotional prescription? My heart was beating faster and faster in anxiety. I had never heard myself say it, but now I was about to. Amidst all of my preperation, I hadn't noticed Watson slow down his pace so that Adler and Holmes were right behind us. And I hadn't noticed them there when I admitted;

"Well, it bothers because because I care about him."

Watson stopped walking. As did I. I could hear someone breathing on the other side of me... A heavy breathing that I instantly knew. I felt my face grow hot as I turned around to see Holmes and Adler both frozen in their tracks. Her brows were raised in amusement. Holmes, of course, looked blank. "Oh, heavens," I muttered aloud.

Watson's smile grew even wider. I glanced at Irene, noting that her smile too, had grown. She glanced over at Holmes and then back to me. I couldn't even bring myself to look at the man I was directly talking about. "It's horribly late out, isn't it? I really must be going before my mother finds her nerves setting aflame once again. Good night to you all."

I tried to speed walk away from that street corner as quickly as I possibly could. After I turned the corner, and none of them were in sight, I began to run towards my house. I didn't even care that when I got there my mother would only fawn over me and my new hat.

I would much rather be in _that_ situation.

~.~.~.~.~

"Pick up your fork," my mother instructed me.

We had been at this the entire morning and afternoon. My mother had picked an entirely new outfit for me, and now we were teaching one another how to act properly when in the presence on noteable guests. "Even unnotable guests deserve respect too," she would say, after shoving my shoulders back against to chair to stop the slouching.

"Mother..." My body was squirming uncomfortably in my seat. "Isn't all of this a bit uncalled for? The party is late in the evening. We won't even be dining at their house."

"If Edward were to invite you to sit down and have a meal with him, you would not reject him. And you must learn properly now, so you do not forget it later!"

"How on Earth do you know if I shall even like this _Edward _fellow?" I scoffed like a child, setting my fork down on my plate. "If I do not, then I do not care what he wishes to think of me." My mother folded her arms across her chest, her fat face glaring at me in silence. I was easily intimidated, so it didn't take long for me to sink in. "I shall make Edward feel comfortable tonight, as he should me."

My mother nodded proudly. "That's what I wanted to hear. Now, go and get changed." She slapped a wet rag down to clean the table. "Your prince charming awaits!"

As I climbed up the stairs, I did dream of what Edward would end up being like. My mother could not stop speaking of how much I would like this man. She had tried to set me up before, but she herself was never certain on them. Now, it was as though Edward was sent to Earth specifically for me. So, of course I was excited to see him.

I didn't often have opportunities like that.

~.~.~.~.~

Elegant.

Graceful.

Witty.

Mysterious.

Horribly charming.

Utterly breathtaking.

These are a few of the things my mother had instructed me to become that night. Yet, when I had walked inside of the large yellow house, decorated with gold clocks, and wealthy aristocrats, I could not find it in myself to act that way. Because, I found it in someone else.

When we had first arrived, my mother led me around the enormously large first floor, having me curtsey to everyone, even the ones she did know of herself. We were about halfway around the bottom floor, my legs already growing tired from all the introductions, when I had spoted him.

Throughout all the chatter, a note rang out. Just a single note. It floated and suspended itself in the air as perfect as the day it was written. My heart skipped a beat as I turned my head anxiously to see where it had come from. My mother was off mingling already, but my eyes were glued to him. The boy at the piano. That one, lonesome boy at the piano.

I was transfixed to him. Utterly, and undoubtably transfixed to this piano prodigy before my eyes. His tousled, yet elegant black hair, swept a bit past his ear. His large eyes and full lips were intensely watching his fingers as he danced them across the keys of the pianoforte. My heart begin to swell as each note he played grew louder and more sweet than the first one.

"Edward!" A sudden voice broke the playing. I nearly took a step forward to beg him to not stop-to play on forever. The boy turned his view towards the woman speaking behind me. "Please, dear. You can play later tonight... when everyone has gone."

The boy stayed silent as he nodded. Presumably the woman was his mother, and he was not interested in disrespecting her wishes. I saw the woman smile and return back to talking with (Surprise!) my mother. My eyes slowly trailed over the wooden pianoforte lid until they reached the boy's pouting face. He frowned a bit and allowed his fingers to drape over the silent keys once more. Finally, he stood up. His youthful body was taller than I had expected him to be and I watched obediently as he closed the piano lid.

It was then that I had noticed he was staring back. I didn't know how long I was looking at him, but after a moment or two, his lip seemed to curl into a smirk. His oceanic eyes twinkled the longer I looked into them. And then it hit me; his mother had called him Edward.

"Oh, Edward, darling!" I heard somone shout to my left. The voice from before, now accompanied with a short body very similar to my mother's, accompanied him. "I see you have finally noticed Miss Renadale Adkins."

After finally catching a glimpse of her face, the woman dawned upon my memory. She was good friends with my mother, and I had met her before at previous parties. However, she was more likely to remember me than the other way around. During those parties, I shyed away or left completely. Edward listened to his mother's wishes. I was not quite as talented at that sport.

"Renadale," a mellifluous voice rang out. I looked up to see Edward's hand politely extending. My gloved hand shook it lightly. "It's lovely to meet you." His alluring appearance was wonderful enough. Yet his voice, not low and rough, but rather sound and sweet, only added more to what I believed to be instant perfection.

"Renadale!" My mother warningly nudged me on the arm. "Introduce yourself! You are not a hermit." She narrowed her eyes towards me. Of course I was a hermit.

"It's lovely to meet you, Edward." My voice wavered like a young boy's. "I would also like to inform you that, no, I am not a hermit as my mother had clarified."

He let out a short and sweet chuckle that flashed perfect teeth. It was a miracle to find a British man these days with decent teeth. But, his lit up the entire room. "I think it would be perfectly suitable if you were, Miss Adkins."

"I'm sure he wouldn't want me admitting this," his mother started. "But my son _is_ rather a hermit." I could see Edward's face flush a shade of pink as he redirected his gaze towards the ground. My mother gasped in delight.

"Well, fancy that, my Renadale is as well!" She stepped closer to Edward as though she were telling a secret. She was going to say something about me; something I probably would regret having her as a mother for. "In fact, she locks herself in her room all day and draws pictures of silly inventions that don't really need to be created at all."

Edward's mother smiled even wider, positively enjoying the idea of my eccentric interests. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't find the nerve to. I knew my mother was right. Eventually, Edward would find out. Better sooner than later, I supposed. "Well to me, it sounds like you two have a lot in common." Edward's mother spoke up. All I knew was that he played the piano like it was the only thing in the world. "I think you two should talk some more, wouldn't you agree?"

Edward quickly turned to look at me, a somewhat timid expression planted on his face. For reassurance, I cracked a quick grin. "Splendid!" My mother sang. "Well, we'll just be off. We've got a lot of catching up to do ourselves." Her and Edward's mother walked off, gossiping away like children. Clearly the only topic on their tongues was us.

"I'm sorry about my mother," I confessed.

We stood away from the others towards the back of the room. Through the idle chatter and clinking of glasses, I could only seem to see him and hear the sound of my own heart ringing in my ears. It was as though we were suspended in time and unable to move. Or at least, that was how it felt for me. "On the contrary," he replied. "I'm awfully sorry about _mine_."

"Well, there's one thing we definitly have in common." Behind our laughter I could hear a dance starting up in the next room. All I really wanted to hear was his piano. "You play beautifully. I wished she hadn't stopped you."

His smile quickly faded. "You do?" He sounded genuinely surprised. Was he not aware of his talent? "Well... thank you. I don't often get praised for my music."

His fingers lightly patted the top of the instrument as a gloomy looked flew over his face. "You really love it, I can tell." The sadness was gone and once again he looked towards me with a heart-warming smile. A sudden stamina built up within me. "Can you teach me to play something?"

His mouth hung open at a loss for words. Coughing to regain his composure, he finally spoke up. "Well... Yes, I could, but I've never done it before. I'm not certain on how smoothly things would go." I shrugged very slightly, hoping he would get my hint. Truthfully, I had always loved instruments. I was ashamed of myself for not even taking the time to learn one. "Come with me." He led me from the room and towards a crooked staircase. "My mother would not be too pleased if she knew I was teaching you how to play a 'worthless' instrument rather than speaking to you about politics." Stopping in his tracks, he turned around to face me. I held my breath as our hands nearly landed on top of one another's on the railing. "Let's have it be our little secret," he whispered.

As we headed up the stairs, I felt a jolt of excitement rush through me. And the furthur we walked up the staircase, the more faint the violins got. A sudden thought swam through my head. A thought I had hoped not think about tonight, but of course it came around eventually.

I grumbled as his name flashed through my mind.

Sherlock Holmes.

**~.~.~.~**

**P.S! I just wanted you all to know what I imagined our lovely Edward to be like. I know there was little character development for him in this chapter, but more shall come. Anyways, I imagined him to look like Henry Cavill in the Count of Monte Cisto or I Capture the Castle. **

**So, if you would like to see him- google is a click away. But, feel free to imagine him however you wish. That was merely my vision. :) **

P.P.S. Robert Downey jr. is still our man. :) No worries.


	5. Emotionally Transfixed

**girlwithwings: I forgive you. :] I love all reviews, including yours. And I am sure you are not dirty, and if you are, I still respect you. XD 3 **

**Paletreasures: I highly agree. A nice smack to the face does sound rather interesting... *evilly rubs hands together* **

**And just a note- I just assumed you all wish to envision Renadale in your own mind. (Don't you hate it, when you see what someone views someone as, and then you can't stop putting their face with the character? Maybe I just do that.)**

**Kazz- Fantastic review, obviously. But I do agree- Rena is quite an adoreable name. :) **

**Okay... over 30 reviews were posted in less than a day, and my mind is going to explode if I respond to them all. So- here's my quick response: I LOVE YOU! **

**Infinite X's and O's,**

~mistro

**P.S. I just re-read through my chapter and YIKES! I had a lot of errors. I was so tired, but I wanted to update. I'll try not to do it tonight... Even though I'm sleepy. x_x**

~.~.~.~.~

"Yes... Yes, your hand goes there."

A hand scooped up mine as gently as possible, curving it on top of the piano keys. "There," Edward laughed softly. "You've got it. See? It really isn't that terrible, once you get used to it."

I giggled as I sat up straighter. "I feel like a true musician," I said, proudly raising my head. Humming to myself, I brushed my fingers over the keys, wishing I was talented enough to actually play something for him. "If only I knew how to read music," I confessed.

"Well, perhaps one day you shall learn," Edward said with an enthusiastic smile. I looked over at him as he sat down on the piano bench next to me. Our eyes met for a brief moment, before he sighed and looked forward at a photograph on the wall before things grew uncomfortable. He pointed to it, his smile never fading. "That is my sister, Sarah. She's left the house with a family of her own."

I stared closely at the smile on his face. Though it should have represented love, I could sense sadness in it. "I can tell that you miss her." He glanced over at me curiously. "Forgive me, but your smile did not seem quite so happy."

He paused, opening his mouth to speak, but he shut it after a moment. "No... but I am happy now." My smile grew even wider. "Do you have any siblings, Miss Adkins?"

"I do not," I sighed, wishing that I had. "My mother and I live together." Edward furrowed his brows together, cocking his head to the side. I knew what he was about to ask, so I beat him to it. "My father passed away."

He sat up straight, his face dropping. "I'm so sorry," he muttered. "You mother always seemed so lively, that I... I really had no idea. My mother had never said anything-"

I quickly placed a hand over his. "Do not worry, you did nothing wrong." With a small smile, I took my hand back. Though I didn't want to admit it I knew that I was being... forward, with him. I was... flirting... with him. It was completely unlike me. My mind told me that I wasn't being myself. How could I possibly know though, whether or not I really liked this boy? Keeping the teasing going, I stood up from the piano bench and walked over to a bookshelf to look at some more photographs. Meanwhile, I could feel his eyes on me.

He abruptly coughed, standing up from the bench as well. "That woman was my closet friend. We were engaged," he said, surprisingly casual as he spotted me eyeing a picture of a beautiful blonde woman. "Oh, we are not any more," he laughed, rubbing his neck. "She ended up not being as stable as we all thought in her health. She grew very sick and passed away a few years ago."

We locked eyes again. Without uttering a word, he knew what I was trying to communicate. It was as though we were taking turns at appologizing to one another.

Despite all of this, he continued to smile. "I'm glad she is out of her suffering. And, she taught me a lot. In fact, she got me interested in music when I was a boy. My mother urged me to participate in athletics, but I was a weak child. I kept to myself, and I liked being at home." He shrugged casually, playing a quick arpeggio. "The piano was a brilliant idea."

"I can see you warmed up to it." I glanced over at the table in the center of the room, surprised to see that the candles were near their end.

He followed my gaze, surprise overcoming his eyes as well. "I hadn't realized how long it had been."

"Neither had I," I laughed sweetly. "Perhaps we should go back downstairs?" Of course I suggested it, but it was not what I had wanted.

He paused for a moment. "No, wait. I want to show you something. If you'll let me of course," he said, extending his hand. I looked down at it with wide eyes. Hardly ever had a man asked to take my hand. Nervously, I slipped my gloved palm into it. Seconds later I was being pulled through doorways and elegant bedrooms. "It's quite charming, even if we are London."

We stopped in a bedroom in which I presumed to be his own. Maps lined the walls, some areas circled, some starred. His desk was hidden by books and papers. I smiled to myself, fond of the chaos. "Alright, come here," he said, dropping my hand and opening up two doors. "Come outside."

I slowly followed him onto the balcony. I stood on the edge next to him, staring ahead of me. The river flowed out before us, lights inside ships shimmering. In my childish mind, I viewed it like bugs lighting up the dark night. "It's breathtaking," I sighed, catching the thousands of stars above my head. "Even for London."

"I stand true to my word that this is the lovliest view in all of the city," he said proudly.

If I hadn't of been so interested in the stars, I would have noticed him looking at me sooner. When I turned my head to ask a question, I was stopped short by his warm expression. His face turned away as I locked eyes with him. "I'm sorry," he laughed, obviously embarassed. "You must find me positively childish."

"Childish?" I scoffed. Lightly, I placed my palm on his arm. I looked down at my silk white gloves, feeling as though they were out of place. "In fact, I'm the one being childish... This isn't me." I began tearing off the hat and the gloves. "None of this glamorous style that my mother so foolishly threw upon me has any relation to my character. Every other time, I've gone along with it. But not this time," I said smiling up towards him. "Not for you. I want to be honest. I want you to know what I am, not what I am not."

He grinned wider than he had been before. "I cannot tell you how glad I am to hear that."

My mind was whirling, and I had no idea of what would happen next, but from the window below us we heard a shout. We looked up towards one another, both of us rushing down the stairs moments afterwards to see what had happened. As we entered the main living room, we stopped in our tracks as everyone huddled around a fainted man.

"He's been poisoned!" A frantic woman cried, cradling him in her arms. "Fetch a doctor! Fetch a doctor!"

No one was moving. No one could speak. Had they been poisoned too? "Do not drink anything while I am away," I whispered to Edward before rushing away from the scene and out of the house.

"Renadale?" He shouted, but his voice was lost as I fled from the scene. My feet were running faster than usual. All of my nerves were giving me extra energy, it seemed and before I knew it, I was on Baker street.

My feet took me to Watson's room, as I knocked on the door over and over again. My breath was escaping me quicker than I had thought possible, and I wondered how I would explain what was happening. The door suddenly flung open to display a droopy eyed Watson at the threshold. "Renadale?" He asked, rubbing his eyes. "What on Earth are you doing here?"

"Please come with me," I gasped. "Someone's been poisoned!"

~.~.~.~.~

Holmes

What had happened today? My mind could not fathom in my acrimony. Irene showing up was a paradox. A mere sycophant woman who, even through my lack of knowledge on the subject, had been playing quite a suave character towards me. And what for, not even I could fathom... As I have noted before. Though, I would not be one to admit that something as simple as affection could dash my thoughts.

When I had asked why she had come, she replied with a non sequitor. Getting the answer out of an ostentatious woman was not going to be simple. Regretably, my mind had flashed back to the last time we had seen one another, which had not been quite a long time ago. I had to remain stoic. And, to my surprise, I did not find it difficult.

That was, until Irene had mentioned something in that carriage. She had mentioned something that had made her grin, therefore causing Renadale to blush, and for me to sorrowfully curve my lips downwards. Which was unintended. It was as though it was a mental reaction to her statement. _Renadale was meeting someone._

Presume I did care for her. Hypothetically, let a mere situation of a lucrative employment turn into something much more, on both sides. Was I one to know what to do in the situation? On the contrary, I would often be trying to find a way out of it.

All of these thoughts bewildered my mind as laid upon my bed, my violin bow twisting in and out of my fingers. Consider it my form of exercise for the day. Finally, I was utterly alone. Though, when looking back on my previous thoughts of the day, I'm not certain that it was what I wished for...

I had awoken early, and exercised. It is logical to exercise before eating breakfast, often skipping the meal if one feels neccessary. One must excel in being awake before being filled. In my mind, I found no comparison as to how food could awaken you nearly as well as exercise.

Shortly there afterwards, the three of us, excluding Renadale- not the first time I had thought of her that morning, as nerve wracking as it is to confess it- went to a research lab near Parliment. It was a versatile place, taking on all different forms of scientific study. Largely, anatomy.

Judging by the way the victim was intreguied with psycological needs, I scanned the doors as we passed them for anything unusual. A door was open a crack, a man sitting at a desk, writing.

Unusual? Perhaps not to the common eye. In a laboratory, for one scientist to leave his door open can be compared to one leaving their entire mind open. If he were to have left, his ideas would be completely excessible. The door was left open, so that the man himself could perhaps get a taste or two of conversations other than those with himself in his head. A motivation, perhaps.

It hadn't taken long for him to notice the three of us there. I could hear Irene speaking to me as though she were a pettifogger, merely trying to get my attention, but my mind was blocking it out. If I were to listen to her, my mind unfortunately drifted to a different woman. Yet, I still could not explain why...

"Is there something I can do for you?" The man asked, removing his glasses and taking a step closer to us.

My eyes quickly glanced at his hands- black from ink. His jacket was wrinkled from late nights of research. Body parts laid in glass across his desk and shelves, none of them yet labeled. "You study anatomy, but you're only just beginning, even in your ripe age, are you not?"

"Have we met?"

"Yes, when I walked through your doorway seconds ago." I muttered. Admitting that I did that often is not easy. Speaking your mind, is not always a wise decision but others cannot help it. "We would like to speak with you for a moment, if you'll sit."

The man slowly sat. A hesitant move. He was nervously rubbing his hands together. My quick response had frightened him into thinking that we were with police force. How wrong he was. If I were to degrade myself to Lestrade's standards, even I would begin to look withered like a small rodent.

"I haven't done anything wrong, have I?" He asked slowly.

"No," Irene spoke up. "We've come to ask you about your job." By her innocent tone, I knew she was going to disguise the situation for what it really was. I wasn't going to travel that exact path, most likely because I wanted today to go by as quickly as possible and for tomorrow to come.

Her large green eyes flashed through my mind, and once again I questioned myself for why I was thinking about these things...

Now that the day was finally over, I was lying upon my bed, thinking things through. This was not a tendency. Regretably, I was not thinking about what I knew I should have been either. Consider it a harbinger. I could not stop thinking about her.

My violin bow froze as I realized this. My mind for once did not argue with itself. It was as if my mind had stopped entirely. The feeling was miraculous, almost... relaxing. When was the last time I had felt relaxed? Never, not even when I was a toddler. Now, thinking of Miss Adkins was making me feel something I had never felt before.

Was I mistaking relaxation at the simple image of her in my mind for something else? Was it a dichotomy? ... If it was, I could not place my feelings on the proper emotion. Her voice echoed through my head; "... _because I care about him._" Could it have been possible she was speaking of me?

Yes, there was no question. She left in a very malinger fashion after she uttered the words. I grunted aloud in frustration. Why were my thoughts constantly drifting back towards this?

As I stated before, however. It was a harbinger. I could hear loud shoes rushing up the stairs in a blur. I expected them to stop at my door, but they continued to go up. It was Miss Adkins, there was no doubt. Solved by the mere deduction that Watson never had any visitors but her. I smirked, pleased with my endless ostracizing of my dear friend.

Curious to see what was happening, I stepped outside... to hear none other than Renadale exlaiming; "Someone's been poisoned!"

~.~.~.~

Renadale

Watson turned and grabbed his medical case quickly, not even uttering another word. He followed me out the door, breathless as he flew down the stairs. I noticed a figure at the doorway below Watson's room, and had not realized until we were outside that it was Holmes. That was irrelevant though. I did not have time to think about him at the moment.

~.~.~.~.~

Holmes

I watched Renadale and Watson fly past me breathlessly. I raised a brow, grabbed my hat and casually walked a few feet behind them as they quickened their pace.

~.~.~.~.~

Renadale

My legs were running as fast as they possibly could. Watson muttered 'excuse me' and 'my appologizes' as he bumped into people on the street as we rushed to get there. I crossed my fingers, hoping that we would be able to get there in time. I hoped this man was okay.

~.~.~.~

Holmes

I saw the two continue running until they were out of sight. Yet, I knew very well where they were going. Irene had exclaimed it self consciously when she was complaining about Renadale earlier to day. It was a home by the name of Brettingham.

~.~.~.~

Renadale

We had finally made it to the house. Watson shouted loudly over everyone else; "Move, doctor coming through, please make way!" People seperated instantly as though they were the red sea. Watson crouched down lowly, taking the poisoned man into his arms.

I bit my nails in hesitation. My nervous habit was unattractive, but I did not care. A gentle hand touched my shoulder. I looked up to see Edward, only taking a step closer to him. "No one else has fallen since you've left," Edward said softly in my ear. I breathed a quick sigh of relief. Well, less problems to worry about.

~.~.~.~

Holmes

I was whistling a tune by Bach's double violin concerto when I approached the house. I turned the knob, easily walking inside.

~.~.~.~

Renadale

"Any progress?" I heard a voice suddenly exclaim in my ear. I jumped, turning around to see Holmes, knitting his brows together in frustration as he watched Watson check the pulse of the man on the floor.

"What?" I asked, my eyes growing wide. Edward looked between the two of us uncomfortably. "How did you get here? How did you even know where to come? You weren't following us, were you?"

"Not quickly enough, but I knew where you were going."

Before I could ask anything else, he crouched down on the floor next to Watson. Watson dropped the man's wrist, shaking his head. "I'm afraid there's nothing there," he muttered pathetically. "He's been poisoned, but thankfully it seems he's the only one."

The woman, his wife as I learned later, let out a heart wrenching sob as she buried her face into the chest of a man nearby. Holmes and Watson stood up as someone carried off the man's body. I could feel my chest tightening, and I reached to grab Edward's hand for comfort.

Yet, when I had looked down, it wasn't Edward's hand I was grabbing. I dropped it within seconds of realizing that I had self consciously grabbed Holmes's hand. My face turned pink and hot. That was just what I needed- more embarassment.

I turned on my heels and walked away from the scene. To be honest, the only person I wished to be with now was my mother.

And that was saying something.


	6. Quick Decisions

**Nothing really exciting happens in this chapter! Just warning you. I guess I was in the mood for some R.D.J. (x_X) But when aren't I? So, here's a little romantic chapter, if you will. **

**Oh. And. Uh. If any of you are wondering about a love scene between Renadale and Holmes... Okay, well, before I keep going- ARE any of you expecting one? O.o (It's not in this chapter, don't worry.) I would just like to know if any of you guys were expecting one. **

**KEEP REVIEWING! :D **

**~mistro~**

_~.~.~.~_

_How would your mind work if you were a murderer? Would you kill for fun? Maybe you'd kill... just to know what it feels like. Or maybe you've thought about it before, because if you do it, it'll be revenge. Perhaps you're overly self confident and you take pride in being better than everyone else. Eliminate them all. That's the way it should be, right?_

My mind was wrapping itself around all of these thoughts. It was a method I had slowly been slipping into, even when we were not on a case. For better or for worse, I was trying to put myself in the killer's shoes. Why did he do what he did? If we understood him better it would be easier to find him.

I figured that was already a method Sherlock, Irene and Watson all used, but the fact that no one had mentioned it to me was rather inspiring. I had come up with it all myself. Proudly, I stood a little straighter. I was becoming more independent.

Realization soon dawned and I frowned. Me? Independent? No. That wasn't very true at all.

At the scene of the crime, Watson had ushered everyone out of the house that was not involved with the victim. The three of us, plus the man's wife were left alone with the body. Edward and his mother stayed along as well. "Why would anyone want to do this to him?" His wife sobbed, drowning in her own tears.

"Your husband most likely did nothing wrong," Watson reassured her as best as he could. "This was most likely a psychological poisoning." He hesitated before he spoke again. "From what I can tell however, it was not a numbing poison. The toxin slipped inside his cup was fatal." I heard another screech errupt from the woman as she continued to unfold in front of us.

I had to turn away from the scene. Hadn't _one_ of these moments already been enough? I turned to see an empty glass resting on top of the white fireplace. Slowly, I approached it. I was still able to hear the conversation in the background as the woman was removed from the room, but I was lost in my own thoughts. "He wanted an audience this time," Watson mumbled. "He wanted everyone to see what he had done. It's just an act of knowing who he is."

My fingers traced the edge of the glass. Nothing out of the ordinary. It looked like a simple glass of wine. Anyone could have grabbed it. Yet, fate chose a good man. I often noticed how chance had a way of doing that. "His confidence is growing measurably," Holmes mumbled beneath his breath. "If he killed out of city limits, and then right in the center of the city, his next moves will be unpredictable. Not to mention he's killed twice, and with no time difference in between. It is likely that he might have a list, and is easily spotting them and getting the job done. These jobs are not sloppy. They are organized, but something strikes me as odd..."

"He didn't wait until the man was alone," I said casually, looking into the blackened liquid. Grimicing, I set the cup back down. Alright, so it didn't look _exactly_ like wine. I was certain it didn't taste like it, either.

"Now why is that?" Watson scratched his chin quizically. "Logically, his next move should have been organ removal." We all paused as the same thought crossed our mind. "He couldn't have... Could he? Could he really have been in the room?"

I saw Edward straighten himself at the question. He shot a glare towards Watson, his clenched knuckles turning white. "We do not befriend murderers in this home."

"Yes, but do you allow any random man to walk inside your home?" Holmes said, a small smirk on his face. Edward was about to answer sternly, but once he realized that Holmes himself was an uninvited guest, he had little to say. "Sometimes the mind pushes back the downfall of others."

I pulled the cup off of the fireplace, trying not to spill anything. "Take this." I handed it to Holmes. "You of all people should know something about it." Edward took a step closer to me. I couldn't tell if he was uncomfortable with the fact that I had grabbed this strange intruder's hand, or if he was interested in what Sherlock would say. Right now, I didn't seem to pay any attention. I was in case mode.

Holmes sniffed it dramatically before setting it down on a table. No more than three seconds had passed and he was already able to identify it. "It's simple rat poison. It causes severe hemorrhaging of the stomach and the intestines." He looked towards Watson. "I trust you will soon find that out."

"Now wait," Edward said, his voice a bit shaky. "Are you suggesting someone slipped rat poison into this man's drink?" His blue eyes stared off before him... I knew what position he was in. He couldn't even think of the idea of someone doing such a thing, especially someone who could have been his guest. "There would be no other way for them to have done so if they were not here already..."

Holmes nodded. "Tell me..."

"Edward Brettingham, sir."

"Edward, tell me. Did your mother invite any scientists over this evening?"

Edward shrunk back a bit. "I couldn't tell you. I don't talk to anyone at these events and I do not ask questions. On that note, you will have to ask my mother. If I were you, I would try catching her tomorrow. She's probably fainted at this point."

Holmes nodded, tipping his hat towards Edward. "We will return in the morning. Make sure your mother does not leave before then."

"My mother will be in bed for the rest of the week, I assure you." Edward sighed heavily. "She probably believes she's been poisoned now. She tends to get delirious." We met eyes for a moment, and I offered him a small smile. He returned it, but I knew it was not genuine. He was too surprised and I didn't blame him.

"I will be here tomorrow morning," I said softly towards him, turning my back to Holmes and Watson. I tried my best to make it soft and sweet, but since no one else was talking, I did not succeed at keeping it quiet. "Please, while I am gone don't drink any of that wine."

He slid his hand underneath mine. I held my breath as he bent down and placed his soft pink lips to the skin on my hand. Without straightening himself back up, he looked up at me. His blue eyes were so wide; I felt as though I were swimming in them. "I would not dream of it." A bitter laugh followed his words.

Once again, I tried my best to smile for him. I hoped it would bring some comfort before he went off to bed. That is, _if_ he could sleep. He looked at me for a moment and then trudged up the stairs. Police came in, removing cups and food items from the rooms. Watson, Holmes and I stood dead center as our bodies refused to move. Our minds were all somewhere else. Men walked past me in a blur. It was like time was slowing down before my eyes. All I could do was stare out of the window ahead and look at the Thames. Voices talking were murmurs in the back of my mind. All I could do was stare at the river.

I wouldn't have minded standing there all night.

~.~.~.~.~

My mother was staying with Ellen that night. Turns out, even older women need to spend time with their friends as well. As for me, I did not like the idea of going home alone. Deep down, I was nervous to ask Holmes if I could stay with him, but I had done it before. Why would he reject me this time? "Might I stay with you tonight?" I asked him as we left the house.

He paused for a moment, glancing over at me. I patiently waited, trying not to seem too pushy. "Yes," he said. He said nothing else while we walked back to Baker St. Luckily for us, it was a short walk. The homes were not far away from one another whiched caused the long silence to not be quite so bothersome.

Watson trudged off up to his room, his eyes sagging more than they had that week. "I'm sorry for waking you up," I mumbled as he began to walk up the stairs. He smiled at me then- a tired but true smile- and tipped his hat before heading to bed. I knew what he was saying. It was his job. He didn't mind.

Holmes was already throwing off his hat and coat as I entered the room. He didn't even send me a passing glance. He continued about his buisness as if I were invisible to him. So, routinely, I made my way over to the familiar red couch and slung my coat over the side. I stepped out of my boots, putting them directly parallel to one another on the floor. I was about to slip off the top part of my dress, but I noticed Holmes had turned around. "Look away," I muttered. He silently obeyed orders. I slipped it off, and tossed it aside as well.

Tiredly, I laid myself down on the couch, grabbing my coat and placing it over my body as a blanket. As I closed my eyes, I tried to pretend that I wasn't really in Sherlock's room. I was glad I was near someone. I just wished it wasn't him. Being around him made it harder to breathe and think. Thoughts of him would keep my turning all night.

_Is he looking at me? He can't see my ankles can he? I hope my hair isn't too crazy. Perhaps I should have looked in the mirror before I left. Oh, Renadale, when was the last time you_ really_ looked in a mirror anyway..._

Something soft suddenly touched my skin. I cracked open my eyes. Holmes was gently placing a blanket over me. "You really musn't sleep with your coat," he said calmly as he slipped a pillow beneath my head. Everything was dark. The moon was shining through the window a bit, but I could see the shimmer of his eyes through it all.

"Thank you," I whispered as he walked back over to his bed.

I wasn't sure how long I had tried to fall asleep. Clocks around the room ticked in different patterns and I found myself staring at the tapestry walls until the patterns began to hurt my head. There was no doubt in my mind that Holmes was asleep. So, why did things feel so uncomfortable? Was there any reason for it? He was the one who grew frustrated with me. If anything, he should be the one to try and get things to return back to normal. I knew in my heart that he was not forward enough to apologize. Neither was I, but it was certainly me who would be the one to step up.

Unless of course... he didn't want things to go back the way they were. Perhaps him and Irene were happily reconnected now.

An image flashed in my mind; the imagine of him smiling at me and kicking my foot gently. A warm feeling spread through my stomach, and like a child, I smiled beneath my sheets with happiness.

More time passed. I could hear him softly breathing from his bed, drifting in and out of dreams. I wasn't sure of the exact time, but I knew that I was never going to get to bed. I had been debating with myself to just get up, walk over to him and kiss him.

And then I thought of Edward and told myself no.

But eventually I forgot about Edward and told myself to do it.

And then I thought of Edward again.

And this battle in my mind trudged on for... who know's how long? He would probably be unconscious of my actions. Yet, I came to the conclusion in my mind that, though I was bewitched with Edward, why not do one daring thing? Perchance he _wasn't_ upset with me. Perchance he was _jealous_...

My feet quickly swung themselves over the side of the couch. As they hit the wooden floor, I could hear it creak beneath my toes. Daintily, I took smaller steps over to his bedside, trying my hardest not to trip over anything. I did not succeed, but Holmes hardly moved so I considered myself safe. I wasn't sure how long I had stood at his bedside. I know that it's horribly strange for a young woman to do such a thing. Yet, it was like my heart was yelling at me to stop being foolish when I knew what I wanted was him, but my mind was telling me that I was just tired and that I shouldn't be doing anything at all.

"Miss Adkins," a voice suddenly errupted from what I thought to be a sleeping Holmes. I gasped in surprise, nearly tumbling backwards, before I felt someone take a tight hold on my wrist and keep me balanced. "You have been standing there for almost a minute. I have been attempting to sleep for nearly three hours. It seems as though neither of us are succeeding in this effort." His eyes were still closed as he explained all of this.

How wrong I had been.

"No." My voice shook. "I-I suppose we're not."

More silence. "Miss Adkins, the mere fact that you have walked over to my beside, but have said little and performed nothing confuses me. I am not-"

Without another thought, I shut my eyes as tight as I possibly could and swiftly bent down to bring my lips to his. He sat up in surprise after the quick peck, our faces finally aligned. "That was all," I whispered pathetically. "A kiss goodnight." His hair was messily sprawled across his head, his shirt slightly undone. I flinched a bit at the sight of him- knowing that I had seen this sight before, but at the moment it felt... well, scandelous. I began to feel lightheaded.

"I upset you yesterday, didn't I?"

I nodded.

"You believed me to be upset with you."

I nodded.

"Did you believe me to be jealous?"

I shook my head.

"Do you now know otherwise?"

I nodded quickly.

"Do you realize that you can never tell a soul this fact?"

I nodded even faster.

"Brilliant."

His arms suddenly found their way around me, pulling my body onto the bed. He wrapped them around me, my face buried in his shoulder. I almost melted. He was simply hugging me, but never had he done so with so much affection. I could feel his heart beating faster than usual. Mine was spirling out of control. My head rested in the crook of his neck, my arms trying to pull him closer to me. I could have stayed like that for three more hours. It was certainly much better than the view of the river.

"Know that I am particularily fascinated by you, Miss Adkins," he mumbled. We stared at one another for a moment as his head cocked to the side. "Though I cannot explain why just yet."

I couldn't stand it much longer. I inched forward a bit, just enough for our lips to meet again. A sudden burst of energy began to flow through my blood. The gentle kiss I had expected suddenly began to turn more deep and passionite as time allowed. I felt his hands find my waist. We both fell backward clumsily, laying down on the bed now. We broke free from one another, gasping for air. "I find your nature most intimidating," he muttered with his eyes closed.

Smiling, I pressed my forehead against his. "You just confuse me." I could feel him smile against my lips as I kissed him again. I hadn't been thinking of Edward anymore. Being in his arms felt right. It was where I knew I wanted to be and should have been; even with Irene and Edward in the picture.

I didn't care. The picture in my mind only consisted of us.

~.~.~.~.~

Edward had silently shuffled upstairs to his room after the three of them had left. His mind was racking through questions about Renadale Adkins, the only woman he had ever accounted as truly beautiful. He paused outside of his mother's door where he heard her weeping. Judith was comforting her. _Like mother, like daughter._ He sighed heavily. Once again, Edward had to rely on himself.

He continued to make his way up the white and gold painted stairs, stopping to look out the window in the middle. His eyes caught the moon, bringing a smile to his face. He couldn't help but think of her.

Renadale and her stunningly green eyes. The way her dark hair curled around her face, and how her soft pink lips would hesitantly smile. He had only seen her once, but he could remember every beautiful detail of her face.

His mother was reaching the point where she thought her son would never marry. He didn't want to. He wanted to travel the world like his father. Yet, his father was long gone. His mother needed him at home, preferablly with a wife. It was a shame that he was a hopless romantic. He waned to share everything with someone, and never had he felt it quite as strongly as he had with her. Renadale Adkins.

"Fool," he mumbled to himself as he continued walking up the stairs to his room. Why would somone as beautiful and intellegant swoon for him? He was a shy boy, gentle, easily intimidated. Yet his mind was filled with ideas swirling and wrapping themselves around one another. Some could say genius, but he considered it a mere phascination with life.

Edward stopped in front of the study where a dusty old piano was tucked away in the corner. He smiled and walked in. His mother finally wouldn't come upstairs and tell him to stop with the noise. He could play in peace like Renadale had asked for. He sat down on the bench, flipping open the lid. Quickly, he played a scale, delight shooting across his fingers.

_Someone was about to drink poison while I was upstairs playing this instrument with Renadale, _he thought as he played another note. Edward's eyes grew wide, a nervous lump in his throat. His eyes darted around the dark room, frightened that he was still not alone.

He stood up quickly, rushing out of the room and running back downstairs. Perhaps he _would_ spend some more time with his mother.

~.~.~.~.~

_Rennnnadaaaale..._

A high picthed voice echoed through my head. I squirmed a bit, trying to go back into my dream.

_Don't ignore me Renadale... I am your dream..._

It continued to echo around my skull. I kept my eyes shut. My heart was pounding. I got nightmares, but this didn't feel like a nightmare... I tried to remember where I was, but I wasn't going to open my eyes.

_You don't think I'm a... a nightmare do you? Come on, Renadale... Open your eyes... Just for a second. You can do that, right?_

"Renadale?" A voice suddenly whispered in my ear.

I sat up in the bed, trying not to scream. "No!" I cried. "Leave me alone!" Something strong grabbed my wrists and I was suddenly pulled into a warm comfort. I wrapped my arms around him once I realized it was Sherlock.

"Be quiet," he whispered, placing his hand on my back. "You were only dreaming. I tried to wake you, but I can tell that was unaffective." I didn't say anything. My fingers dug into his back as I tried to regain my composure.

"I was having another nightmare." My eyes could close better, now that I was next to him. I tried my best to relax, but still seemed out of my wits compared to him. "I tend to get those a lot."

There was a long silence before I felt him pull away from me. He crawled out of the bed, stumbling over to his night stand. In a moment's time, a candle suddenly lit up the room. "Simple," he muttered, blowing out the match. He crawled back into bed, laying down and pulling me next to him. One simple gesture, and a girl could feel ten times better. "Try and sleep before it goes out."

I turned to look at him better. His eyes were shut, but I could tell that he knew of my gaze. "I never meant to hurt you," I whispered. His eyes slowly peeped open. "I feel like you still haven't forgiven me yet."

He blinked a few times. I couldn't tell you what he was thinking for the life of me. "I've dealt with it before, Renadale." The statement and sound of my actual name took me off guard. "Hurt comes in various forms. However, you are breaking you barrier and are much easier to read. I understood that you were sorry." A smirk spread across his face. He had said enough. I shut my eyes, lying against his chest.

Before I fell asleep, his voice was a soothing whisper in my ear. "It upsets me that you, of all people, must live with these nightmares."


	7. Clocks, Caviar and Compassion

**girlwithwings: ... Renalock? ... I like it :]**

**Shnitzel: I KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN! I was surprised when I wrote it. I was like; WOW! Did I just do that? That's so friggen cute... And yes, I too like Edward. Perhaps because in my mind he is Henry Cavill- and how can you not like that? But you're absolutely right. They just met at the wrong time. **

**:D Thank you all for the lovely reviews! I'm glad you liked this chapter, so did I. :) HolmesxAdkins rules. And, I'm sorry for all of you who like Irene better. Don't worry... stuff will happen. XD *rubs hands evily together* MUAHAHAHAHA! **

**Now. On with the show.**

**Infinite X's and O's,**

**mistro**

~.~.~.~.~

I awoke up the next morning to... no one.

This realization should have been expected, but after sleeping so well after my nightmare I had expected Holmes to do so as well. I had obviously expected wrong. Then again, that wasn't uncommon for me.

Groaning, I rolled over to look at the clock.

Bad decision.

It was noon, and I was still sleeping. My mother was probably having a heart attack, and on top of it- Holmes and Watson were no where in sight. I grunted, flopping back down on my pillow. Maybe an extra hour or two of sleep wouldn't hurt. They'd already kept me here for this long, right?

My eyes were closing shut, my vision starting to travel to much more pleasant things rather than the hour hand of the clock. I smiled to myself, pulling the covers tighter around my neck, enjoying the softness of the bed. Holmes must have cracked open the window, because I could hear the clomping of horse hooves as well as feel the spring breeze. And yet, it was a sad reminder that I should probably get out of bed.

So, using as much effort as I could muster up, I crawled out of the bed and drug myself over to get my clothes. Only, my tight golden dress my mother had picked out for me had replaced by something entirely different.

It was a deep blue, with silver lace around the neck and sleeves. My eyes were probably sparkling if someone where to have caught them. The dress was... Simple, but elegant, and in my fawning, I couldn't help but to imagine what it would look like on me.

My eyes darted around the room. Why did I have to imagine? No one was around. Would there be any harm in trying it on? I didn't think so.

So, carefully (ever so carefully) I scooped up the dress in my arms, sliding it on. I had always been the kind of girl who was afraid of mirrors, but I decided that today would be an exception. So, I stepped out in front of one, a small smile forming on my face when I saw my reflection.

It wasn't quite terrible at all, surprisingly. It brought out my eyes, that was certain. I spun around a few times, getting the feel of it. For once, I found myself liking a dress. I couldn't recall the last time I had done so.

The door flung open behind me, and without turning around I knew who it was by the loud hits of heels against the wooden floor. I sighed heavily, shutting my eyes. "Hello Irene," I mumbled, turning around with a fake smile on my face. She stopped at the sight of me in the dress, a chuckle escaping her lips.

"I see you like my dress."

I could have died! _Her _dress? What did she mean _her_ dress? That dress was set out perfectly for _me_ to wear- right next to my other one. _And _it hadn't been there last night. _And _Irene hadn't come by this morning to set it there.

"I stopped by this morning and set it there," she replied with a small smirk on her face. My heart could have shattered. "I'm actually very glad you like it though. It was much too small for me, so I figured it would be just your size.

"Are you telling me that you were giving it to me?" I asked, confused. I was horribly confused. One minute she was nice, the next she wasn't. "Why?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Didn't I tell you?" She puckered her lips, cocking her head to the side. "It didn't fit me anymore."

"Yes, but why would you give it to _me_?"

She blinked a few times, obviously surprised by my question. "I know we got off on the wrong foot and all, but, I can see us being friends," she said as I flinched a little bit. Friends? What did I know about being friends with a woman, let alone Irene Adler? "I really do feel bad about the way I've been acting, but I've been getting this feeling that you have not quite warmed up to me yet."

"No." I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "Sometimes we just can't help it if we don't get along with someone." Hearing myself, I couldn't believe it was me. For some reason, the topic of our friendship was a very touchy subject for me. I couldn't be sure if I liked the idea or not.

In my mind; all she wanted was Holmes. So, why was she trying to keep me in the picutre? I scoffed.

Women.

"Oh," Irene said bluntly. "I see." Tension suddenly grew. I stared at her pretty face, surprised to see it look rather... disappointed. What if she really did want to be companions? How would I ever know if I never tried? I would only feel worse if she was being truthful.

"Irene," I sighed heavily. "I love the dress. And you're right, we have gotten off on the wrong foot. I don't dislike you, I felt quite the opposite actually. And, I would love to be... friends... with you..."

Her face light up instantly and somehow I wasn't surprised. "Then come with me. We've got a lot of work to do. Something scandelous has happened today."

That took me right out of my previous mindset. "What is it?" I asked nervously. "What's happened?"

"Well, we waited overnight for Watson to come and look at the gentleman who had been killed, and when we got there this morning, as it turns out- he is awake."

~.~.~.~.~

"I just remember feeling numb. There was a large silence. I could see mouths moving and instruments being played, but I could hear nothing... It wasn't until shortly after until I felt my eyes open, but everything around me turned black... I couldn't even hear my heart thumping."

Watson scribbled down notes like wildfire. Mary was there today; supporting him, though I could tell she was nervous and slightly out of her comfort zone. In an attempt to get away from Irene's confusing personality, I stood next to her. She offered me a smile, slightly placing her hand on my shoulder. She knew I was offering her some ease.

"It's a bit shocking, isn't it?" I whispered to her as the man continued to talk. She nodded, rolling her eyes. "I know," I laughed. "I don't know how they stand it every week either."

The victim was a Colonel. Colonel Ellis. He had traveled all over the world, his favorite countries being Spain and India. He claimed it was because he wanted to help the less fortunate. Not out of coincidence, but I noticed how similar his goals were to the boy in the country home. This was not surprising; A murderer who hated good.

"Well, I have a theory," Watson sighed, setting down his paper. "There is a poison made from blood of a fish. It's often called black magic poison, but the latin term is tetrodotoxin." We all looked at him with blank eyes. "It paralyzes you," he grunted, making things simpler for all of us. "However, if one takes too much it can be deadly."

"I didn't drink all of my wine," Colonel Ellis murmured beneath his breath. "Could it be possible that I only went numb?" He scratched his fat chin, somewhat intregued with the murder planned upon him. "Fascinating."

He might have found it fascinating, but I recalled something possibly vital.

I didn't know what to think when it had first popped into my head, but the more I stayed silent and thought about it, the more sick the idea got, and the more sick I began to feel. Mary had noticed. She wrapped her arm around mine, her eyes sincere. "Rena, are you alright?"

"Brettingham," I said loudly, grabbing everyone's attention. "Brettingham might not have been dead." Everyone froze, looking at one another. "We found no evidence of any poison in his room, or the well. How will we know how much he was drugged?"

"Did you perform an autopsy?" Irene questioned Watson.

"He was dead," Watson said- quite angrily. "I will not be accused of that again! His parents would not allow an autopsy. I mentioned numerous times that it would be for the good of humanity, but they would not have it." He shouted, but we could all tell he was nervous. What I said was plausible. He could have seemed dead. His pulse could have stopped from the poison. For all we knew, he was scratching at his coffin as we spoke...

"No one breathe a word," Irene said calmly. "We might be over reacting. And, I'm afraid to admit, that if we are correct in our assumptions- it would be too late for him now." All of us grew quiet. That poor, beautiful young boy was dead now, whatever the previous incident might have been.

"It seems we're in need of a new system," Holmes grumbled, sticking a pipe into his mouth. "Come Miss Adler, Miss Adkins," he said, finally looking up to see me. He was about to walk away, but stopped short. His eyes were fixed upon my outfit- which for once wasn't rags. I could see his statuesque composure begin to falter as he stared at me. "Miss Adkins," he said slowly, trying to compose himself. "... Where did you find that dress?"

Irene hadn't seemed to notice the way we were looking at one another. I was thankful for this. "Isn't it marvelous?" She gawked. "I got it in New York. I could tell it would look smashing on her once I realized it did the complete opposite on me."

Holmes said nothing. He looked at me once more, and then left, leaving Irene and I alone. "Here," Mary whispered beneath her breath to me. She slipped a hankerchief in my hand. "In case you need to clean up the drool."

~.~.~.~.~

None of us were walking together. Holmes was feet ahead of us, his cane glimmering and easy to spot. I was second, standing nervously a few feet behind him. He was back to his normal, pre-occupied self in mere seconds. I couldn't blame him though; it was his job. Unless of course, he was too nervous to face me.

And finally, Irene trailed behind me, humming and seemingly happy. Was it part of her plan? Did she even have a plan? I felt obliged to stop and talk with her because of her kind deeds, but my feet would not let me.

My feet, and Edward that is.

"Renadale?" I heard someone ask as I passed a bakery. I stopped walking instantly, turning to find Edward holding a bag of petite fours. "It's so lovely to see you again so soon!" Edward said softly with a charming smile.

Pathetically, I melted.

I wanted to clutch at my chest to make it stop beating. Why was I doing this to myself? ... And worst of all, why was I doing it to Holmes?

Irene could tell by the way I looked at him, that I was affected in some way. It was no surprise that she wanted in on the action. "Good morning. I'm Irene," She said, offering her hand. Edward merely nodded, his hands already full. "I'm working on the case with Renadale."

"Yes, she's my friend. From America."

"Oh, America?" Edward said, his brows raising. _Wait, what was that look? Why did he look at her like that? ... Wait, why should I care?_ "What did you do in America, Miss Adler?"

She smiled sweetly- a mere attempt that I pointed out to be modest. "I was a singer." I expected the conversation to continue on furthur, but Edward smiled and nodded his head, his attention soon finding it's way back to me.

"I was upset to see you go last night. I was hoping I could have talked to you more." His soft cheeks flushed a shade of pink. "I never got the chance to tell you how lovely you looked, but I can tell you now." Now it was my turn for my cheeks to turn rosy. "At any rate, I was on my way to the police. I wanted to ask what had happened to Colonel Ellis?"

"He was temporarily paralyzed," I explained quickly- hoping to calm his nerves. "He could have been killed if he would have dranken all of the wine."

Edward's blue eyes grew wide. His face dropped, and I had caught his fear. Of course; he didn't like the idea of an attempted assassination in his own home. I did not blame him. I wouldn't be a huge fan of it either. "I'm... Well, I'm... I'm very glad he's alright now, though."

"Yes, we all are." I said, placing a comforting hand on his arm. He looked down at it with those blue eyes, his hands too full for him to return the gesture. I didn't mind. I just wanted him to know that it would be alright.

There was a long pause. Edward and I simply stared at one another. I could feel the presence of Irene on my left, watching us. However, I hadn't realized Holmes was directly on the right of me. "Time really is an inconsistant thing to waste, yes?" Holmes' voice interrupted our stares.

"What?" I said, still in a bit of a daze. I turned towards him, realizing that I had forgotten about the case for a moment. He seemed unaffected, his professional face painted on. I looked at him a bit longer than I should have though, and I caught his hidden sadness.

I really was horrible when it came to people.

"Oh yes," I sighed. "I'm so sorry Edward, to cut the conversation short- but we're in the middle of the case and we shouldn't be wasting any time whatsoever."

Edward smiled. "Of course not. I will see you again. I appologize, Mister Holmes for taking up your time." He politely nodded towards all of us. "Good afternoon." He paused, a small smile directing itself towards me. "Good afternoon, Miss Adkins."

We all watched him walk away, and before I could say anything Irene had beaten me to the case. "What on Earth!" She laughed, trying to catch up with me as I began to walk furthur away from them. I could feel my face burning with embarassment. "That was quite romantic, wasn't it? Did you see the way he was looking at you?"

"I have little to say on the matter."

"Well perhaps you don't have much to say, but I can tell what you wanted to say."

"I promise, you don't know what I wanted to say."

"What's wrong? There's nothing wrong with that boy." I heard Holmes grunt in amusement. "He's absolutely perfect, and he's obviously mad for you."

"That might be the case," I said, shrugging and walking even faster. "Yet, I cannot say the same for him." My eyes caught Holmes for a moment, but he was staring at the ground. However, I wanted him to hear me. I wanted him to look at me- so he would be reassured. After last night, I wasn't going to let him think he was just leaving my mind so soon. That had already happened. I wasn't planning on it happening again. "It seems as though my heart has _already_ been taken."

Holmes stopped walking for a second, his eyes wider than normal. Irene wrinkled her brows, glancing back at him. "Holmes, what are you doing? That's ineffective, don't you think?"

"No," he muttered. "Since, we're here." Irene and I looked at one another in confusion.

"Holmes," I said. "We're at a pub."

He hesitated, and then turned to see that indeed, that was where we were. "Yes, I realize this." He scratched his chin. "For a moment there, I figured I needed a drink." He mumbled something else beneath his breath, but then kept walking, passing us in a blur.

Irene sighed heavily once he was out of hearing distance. "I truly don't understand him. It's remarkable, don't you think? The way he acts. It's as though he plays multiple characters, when it's really just him the whole time."

As strange, and slightly upsetting that it was for her to know so much about him, she was right. Sherlock Holmes, also known as the enigma of my mind.

"Where are we going?" I asked, trying to get off the subject.

Irene playfully smirked towards me, her deep red lips spreading into an even smile. "Oh come on, tell me you don't know?" I said nothing, hoping she would catch my drift. "Well. If I assume correctly, which I'm certain I am- we will wait at a small pub of some sort closer to our destination, and when things get more busy, we'll head on in."

"Head on in?" I repeated. "Into where?"

She winked towards me. "The shrews."

~.~.~.~.~

Being friends with detectives ruins all of the fun. Irene was of course right. We were all at a local resteraunt, Holmes obviously uncomfortable as ever. He fiddled with his fork, stacking it on top of the spoon- picking it up and doing it all over again after it fell off. Irene grunted, eventually taking both of them from him. "Must you do that?" She mumbled.

Holmes blinked a few times, staring down at his empty plate. I eyed him carefully, waiting to see what he would do next. Carefully, he picked up the knife, balancing it on the rim of his glass. I couldn't help but to let a giggle be released, as Irene snatched that from him as well. "Honestly?" She scoffed, setting it down with his other utensils.

Holmes smiled, despite her angst. We smiled towards one another as I laughed at his playful manner. Holmes wasn't often funny, but he could always find a way to make me smile. Now that I was finding him amusing, I felt the stress of the case suddenly fly from my shoulders.

And then I remembered that we were going to see prostitutes, and it all came flooding back.

Irene stood up from the table, excusing herself. "Make sure he doesn't touch those," she said, pointing to his table utensils. "If my cavier comes before I do, don't touch that either." She smiled as she walked away, but I could tell she was serious about her fish eggs.

I laughed at it all, trying to ignore her brash attitude and rather enjoy it. "She certainly lights up the room, I must say."

Holmes smiled towards me, taking a silent sip of his water. Neither of us said anything for a while, before Holmes decided to take action this time. "Mr. Brettingham-"

"No," I stated bluntly. I knew what he was getting at. "No."

His eyes grew a bit more wide than normal. Slowly, he nodded, sipping his water again. By deduction, his mouth was possibly growing dry by possibility of nerves, or the inability to sit still when around a human being of mutual relations. See? I was studying!

"No?" He questioned, setting his glass down. I shook my head. "Perhaps that might seem the case as things are moving now, however-"

"No, Holmes." I said, offering him a smile. "I care about you."

Irene had walked back just in time, sitting down with a heavy sigh. Her cavier had come a few moments ago, and she happily began to eat it. I took a small peice of bread from the basket, not entirely hungry any more. I could feel his eyes on me, but my heart was more scared to look up than my eyes. "Holmes?" I heard Irene say. "Are you alright?"

My protective side brought my eyes to jolt upwards. He was staring at me, his cup still tightly grasped in his hand. I figured by now he would be a bit more used to me saying those things, but it was obvious that he was not. How many times _had _a woman said those things to him? I had never said anything like that to any man before in my life, and if my heart was racing just by saying them, I was surprised his heart wasn't exploding by hearing them.

"All to peices," he said, giving her a quick and obviously balderdash.

"All to peices, eh?" She said, raising her brow and taking another bite of her food. Her eyes shifted back between the two of us. She was suspecting something. "If you say so, Mister Holmes. After all, you are the detective."

~.~.~.~

The woman who ran the place loved to keep things quiet. It took a lot of effort to convince her that we were not arresting her, and that we were not going to tell the police that we were here, and that we were not in fact a part of the police at all. Technically, we weren't anyways. Holmes did not want to associate himself with Lestrade in his life time.

"Come in," she whispered, pulling us in quickly. "Follow me." She said, leading us down a hallway with red velvet pinned to the walls. Every time we passed a staircase, a young, beautiful girl at the top would smile and wave, a couple of them even complimenting mine and Irene's clothes.

Irene and I were overall friendly. Perhaps it was a woman thing. I, anyways could see that these women were struggling. Holmes took no notice of them, strictly coming on buisness.

We followed the owner into her office as she slammed the door behind us. "Why are you here?" She said coldly. "I barely trust you, so don't consider lying as an option."

"We need to know if a young boy by the name of Brettingham ever came around here." Irene demanded.

The woman sat down at her desk, narrowing her eyes and staring us down. "You're joking me, yes? I wouldn't know. Only my girls would know. I've gotten no bad reports about a Brettingham as far as I can remember."

"Is it alright if we talk to the girls then?" I asked, cocking my head to the side.

Her eyes narrowed even more towards me. "I'll ask them," she scoffed. "Wait here."

And so we did. Irene hummed again, while I leaned against the wall closing my eyes. A window was open and a violin soloist outside on the street could be heard playing through it. "Adagio con moto," Holmes mumbled, as he leaned against the wall next to me. "Mozart. B flat."

I raised my brows, offering a small smile. Irene mocked my motions as well. Impressive, as always. And for once, I could look at him without him noticing. So, I took my sweet time, smiling and looking at his face. His eyes darker than normal; that was probably my fault for keeping him awake. Despite this, I found his calm nature quite charming.

Honestly? He was possibly the most charming man I'd ever seen. I know I didn't speak with many men in my life, but out of all the ones I'd viewed, I wouldn't be lying when I said he was positively... well, wonderful.

"Alright, I've talked to them," the woman said, barging in the room again. "A few of them knew him, a few of them didn't."

"And?" I asked.

"He never paid any of them," she said, rolling her eyes. "They said he was a charming young boy, probably just out of school and getting ready for college, but whenever he came he just wanted to talk to them. They said he was their friend; someone they could tell anything to and he wouldn't judge." The woman grunted, flopping back down in her chair. "Obviously, I had no idea about this or I would have kicked him out of here for good. Most of my girls said he made them happy though. Happier about themselves."

A sinking feeling arose in my stomach at these words. Maybe what I needed was a Brettingham kind of person. If he could make a prostitute feel good about herself, I'm sure he could have done wonders of my self esteem.

"Was there anything about a Colonel Ellis?" Irene asked, hoping that might get some more information.

The woman paused for a long while, churning up memories. "You know what? Yes, I believe there was. He never was a customer either. He would spend time with the girl's children outside on the street. He'd buy them things like candy and what not. I would often come out of the place and see him just talking to lazy old goons like us." She sighed, shaking her head back and forth. "I still don't get why he did it."

So, they had both been here. Perhaps the murderer was around this area. Regardless, we didn't have enough evidence yet. She did give us more than what we had before however. And, being a detective- I was starting to learn that was better than nothing.


	8. Mellifluous

**The name Rena, was in fact, intentional. I found it charming. And, surely our girl needs a nickname right? **

**OH POOO! I'm so sorry about the whole Brettingham affair/confusion! Yes, okay, we'll say it's Edward's last name. I went back and edited it so the victim's name was Caldwell. I'm really sorry about that, my mind must have been somewhere else.**

**Lillibella- it was a reference to the fact that he was lolligagging over her. ;) You know how when silly men see a beautiful woman, and they start to drool in comedies?**

**Anyways... Now that that's all cleared up, on with the chapter!**

**Infinite X's and O's,**

**~mistro**

**P.S. PLEASE REVIEW! Honestly, you guys don't know how happy you make me when I see a ton of reviews. I just love it. It's what keeps me going.**

**~.~.~.~.~**

Irene had told Holmes that she wanted to speak with him. Holmes agreed with a nod of his head, but Irene made no effort to begin speaking. "Alone," she clarified. "That is... if you don't mind of course." Her eyes snapped in my direction, and though she was smiling, there was coldness in them. Holmes curiously looked between the two of us, but I walked away before he could deduct any of my jealousy. If Irene wanted me gone, then so be it. I was starting to get a bit weary of her mood swings anyway; physically and emotionally. I was also the kind of girl who did what she was told. I was asked politely to leave and I did.

That might not have been the best decision.

As I walked away from them, I could hear Irene murmuring something. Was it bitter? Was it romantic? I couldn't tell. The sound of youthful laughter was coming from upstairs and it drowned out any chance of eavesdropping. At that moment, I wouldn't have minded _everything_ being drowned out. Things were getting more and more puzzling and a breath of fresh air sounded fantastic.

Outside, everyone was black except for the moon shining above me; white and pure. I sighed in adoration for the enormous planet. Some of my father's scientific interest had found it's way to myself, and I could never get enough of the stars in the heavens. As a breeze ran through, I wrapped my arms further around my chilly body.

Despite the beauty of the moon, we were not in the best part of London. I found myself starting to feel a bit uncomfortable on the grimy street with no other human beings around. There was a bum with a bottle of whiskey in his coat pocket- I could deduce that by the size of the bump in his fabric- but other than that, I was alone. I could have gone back inside, but that's not what I was asked to do.

I was asked to wait outside in the cold and pitch black night. Alone.

Alright, the street lamps had been lit, but when one is alone and scared, everything seems much darker.

My foot began to tap the longer I waited for them. I couldn't decipher if it was from nerves or impatience. I questioned what on Earth they were talking about, but I didn't really want to think about that. I knew I would start to make up degrading questions Irene would ask about me, and then repeat them to myself until I believed them to be true. My confidence level was low enough as it was, and I didn't need to bury it.

Either way, they weren't coming. And as it turned out, the bum wasn't the only one on the street anymore. There was a man across the road who was leaning his slender bodice up against a brick building. He wasn't moving, smoking, or humming. In fact, he wasn't doing _anything._

Despite my distaste for attention, I continued to stare at him. The night was covering his face and it was difficult to make out whether or not he was looking at me. After what seemed like hours, I saw him tear himself away from the wall and start crossing the street.

Inside my head, I told myself to run back inside, but I couldn't move my legs. Just like him, I didn't move a muscle. I didn't do anything to get away from him. He stepped out into the light, smiling. "I'm assuming you don't work in that building, do you?" He asked with a laugh as he approached me.

I stared at him and ignored his rude assumption. _Use inference, _I told myself. _What would Holmes do? Analyze him like Sherlock does._ He was young, probably in his late twenties. His face was a bit unshaven, but that never seemed to bother me. His eyes were tainted by black circles that matched the color of his hair, but any glancing woman would have said that the man did not seem potentionally threatening by appearance. He obviously was studious- his clothes were too nice for a lower class citizen to own. He also was a busy man, judging by his tired appearance. I kept these thoughts to myself as I answered his question.

"No. I do not work there." Admittedly, I was a bit embarassed by the question.

He laughed once more. Nothing about him seemed like a danger to my safety, but something wasn't right. He came out of no where. Why would a well-off man like him be hanging around these parts of London? "No, of course not." He said. "You're far too pretty to succumb yourself over to makeup and cheap clothing, yea?"

I shook my head, wrapping my arms tighter around myself.

"You see, you're the ideal woman that the world should have. Do you know what I mean? You're lovely, protective, and I'm certain you're intellgent-"

"That's enough." My voice trembled as I tried to sound fierce. "You don't need to flatter me, thank you."

The man's smile dropped. His dark eyes seemed to burn their way into my skin as he stared intensely at me. I looked as far away as I could. If I ran away, would he chase me? Why didn't I just leave when I had the chance? And where on Earth was Holmes?

"You've got a sweetheart, don't you?" He smiled again, but it was still laced with bitterness. "Of course you've got someone special. That was a foolish thing for me to ask."

"I find it enjoyable that you already know so much about me. I know that you have money and don't often spend time around these areas. So, let me ask, why are you here?" He was bewildered and obviously wasn't expecting me to look him over. "And what kind of job do you have? A teacher, perhaps? You have to be staying up late, judging by the state of your skin. Oh, and does it amuse you to stand and ask foolish questions to innocent women on the street?" His smile continuous began to drop. "Because if it does amuse you, I'm afraid you're not recieving any enjoyment from your opposite party. Now, please. Leave me be."

My suddenly tough attitude did not falter his, however. The one time I decided to take things up a notch...

"Now it seems as though, _you're_ being the rude one." He lifted his hand in front of his face, my heart beating with sudden fear. "I think it's time for you to talk a bit more... softly."

Before I knew it, I felt one of his arms wrap itself around my waist, his other hand pressing itself to my mouth. I inhaled something sour through my nose, and as I opened my mouth to scream and get more air, I only inhaled it again. I couldn't tell what was happening; I didn't recognize the feeling. My hair could have been burning, my head felt so hot. Yet, my arms wouldn't move to check.

And then for a long while... I didn't really feel anything at all.

~.~.~.~.~.~

HOLMES POV

Surprisingly, I could not state exactly why Irene had asked me to stay behind. By doing so, we would be leaving Miss Adkins by herself in a insidious part of London. However, there would be no trying to convince Irene otherwise, so I said nothing it amuse her.

"Holmes," she said softly with a smile. I always found her smile to come onto her face like butter on toast. It just spreads and takes over every other feature. Every time I glanced at it, I was reminding myself that I had known the touch of her lips. I couldn't understand how it made me felt. Numb, perhaps? "Holmes!" Irene whispered harshly to try and rid me of my thoughts.

"What? Yes, of course," I mumbled distractedly. "You were saying something."

"I was going to make a comment on Renadale." Now I was beginning to find my curiousity level raising, yet at the same time my tendencies to get a bit hesitant towards these kinds of talks was also peaking. "I just wanted to ask exactly what her... experiences were."

Perhaps I should have seen it coming, but frankly, I hadn't. "She worked with Watson and I on a case before," I stated simply. "She is knowledgable in many different aspects of education as well as an inventor."

Irene nodded slowly, carefully plotting her next move as one would in a game of chess. By this point, I could tell she was trying to attack Miss Adkins, but for reasons I could not seek out. It was like playing chess with Watson. He always pulled moves I never understood. Average minds, I suppose. "An inventor? It's just... Well, we seem a bit crowded, do we not? Watson will be with us tomorrow, and then there will be four of us-"

"Is there a innumerable difference between the presence of 3 people, and the presence of 4? Perhaps I am mistaken Miss Adler-"

"All I am saying is simply that we should divide days, or perhaps keep her on as a researcher, since that is what her father seemed to do."

"Say we do, and we need her strategic planning and advice in a situation where she is not present. If you are trying to be more of a leading role in these cases, know that your statement is being understood."

Irene froze and straightened herself a bit. I've noted that normal people tend to do then when their feelings are... 'hurt'. As if feelings could ever be damaged. "You attack my character and lack of good will, but all I am trying to do is help for the better of this case." I smiled. I had cracked her. I often enjoyed doing that with Irene. "And for one thing, your character has certainly been solved in accordance to your feelings for Miss Adkins. Do not try and defend others when your own neck is being investigated by your friends."

It wasn't difficult for her to have picked up on it. The fact was certain. I was somehow bewitched by the wide eyed, dark figure who had suddenly fell upon my door step with a softness in her eye, asking about cleaning my floors. It was perhaps obvious that when I viewed her, I stared longer than what was neccessary. Admitting these things to myself were difficult, and quite frankly still were. Irene however was suggesting that my character was being deterred by this. In Irene's words; she was more fit for the job, because Renadale was more distracting. "If distraction be the case, let it be known that I have worked with _you _several times on cases before. I'm afraid your assumptions have been false, Irene."

The words were not ones I wished to uttered aloud or in my thoughts. However, being with her again did draw up past memories. Memories I wished to forget.

She narrowed her eyes. "Are they false, Sherlock? _Are _they?"

No. In fact, they were not. In one way they were; the fact that I was distracted too much by Adkins to run the case. That allegation was in fact, false. She had reassured me that Edward Brettingham was nothing to her. That alone would ease me. "Yes," I said after a long pause.

And with that, I assumed our conversation was over. So, I swiftly turned on my heels, hearing her not entirely far behind. Outside, Renadale would be waiting for me, and we could continue on with this case. All four of us. Except, as I walked outside, my heart stopped for a moment at the possibility that there might not be four. I noticed an unconscious Renadale being tossed over someone's shoulder. "Renadale?" I choked in surprise.

Of course, the man had heard me and had turned around with a surprised look on his face. We stared at one another for a brief moment, before my natural instinct was to charge at him. I found myself un-politely grab Renadale and toss her to Irene. She shrieked as Renadale simply slumped to the ground.

I found myself repeatedly running my fist in to the man's stomach. Only this time, I was not fighting for the mere sake of fighting. For once, I was fighting _for_ something. And my anxiety once again began to increase when I had realized that it was for Miss Adkins; a woman who, despite my efforts, constantly entranced me.

Well, I'm not going to get into that. I was in the middle of a fight. I wasn't thinking about that just then.

One blow to the lower left jaw. Fracture. Tilt his eyes upwards; tightly shut.

Right leg, swings around and kicks the back of his left, causing him to stumble onto his knees.

Left hand still in position from before, takes one side of his face.

Knee to the upper chest.

Wait for him to kneel over.

Tighten left hand around curled right fist and bring it down upon his lower back, casuing his strength to be tested as he stumbles onto his stomach, unable to speak and most likely comprehend.

As long as that was over, I knew we had to leave, despite the questions I wished to ask him. I suspected he would show little mercy next time, even though I was certain I could have handled the situation that would have been presented. I spun around, my eyes searching for her. "Give her to me," I said, reaching out for her and scooping her into my arms. "We must leave quickly."

Irene only nodded, running ahead of me. She was certainly prepared to leave. I, on the other hand, wanted to walk as fast as I could without disturbing Miss Adkins. She looked as though she was sleeping, but I could smell a drug upon her face.

I could feel cold air radiating off of her body through my clothes. I wrapped my arms tighter around her. Renadale was finding her way deep within my emotions- whatever those intended to be- and I could not seem to get her out. I did not _want _to get her out. For some reason, I wanted her to be as comfortable as she ever could... in _my_ arms.

It was strange. Upon realization, I was nauseas and uncomfortably so.

Perhaps it was because I had intended for her to be there a little while longer.

~.~.~.~.~

Watson was not at home. He was with Mary on a visit to her mother. I didn't know where he was, or what he was doing. Most likely planting a fake smile and sophisticated manner in order to impress. And, unfortunately for us, it was late by the time we had returned back to Baker St. and none of the doctors were present. As much as I longed to help Renadale, she would have to wait until the next morning.

Irene and I both looked at her unmoving body after laid her upon my bed.

I couldn't find the correct words. I wanted to, but my lips could not utter anything near her seemingly obvious perfection. My eyes trailed over her body, as she laid silent in her deep blue dress. If I tried to find the words to understand what had happened, I would begin to drift into hushed compliments.

"Whoever he was, we'll have to wait until she wakes up to hear her opinions." Irene shot me a nervous glance. We both had the same thought. "Unless she doesn't remember."

"She will remember. By the smell of it, he simply made her unconscious for a little while."

I had noticed the rotten like smell on her face as I held her, and I knew that I had smelled the chemical before. It knocked someone out for half of a day or two. "She will be awake by morning."

Irene said nothing. In fact, her next action rather surprised me. She sat on the side of the bed, crawling on top of it after a moment or two only to look down at Renadale. I watched and waited patiently. Irene's fingers suddenly brushed a curl from Renadale's face. She took her hands and folded them elegantly across her chest.

My heart began to ache at the sight of this. Her grim stature looked as though she was going to be seeing her father sometime soon. "Wait," I gasped, rushing up to her as this thought came to my head. Quickly, I adjusted her arms so they were at her side. "No..." I mumbled, as that still looked too somber. After trying out numerous positions, nothing seemed to make her look a lively as she was when conscious.

"Here," Irene said, snatching a blanket off the floor and draping it across her body. "There. Now it looks as though she is merely sleeping."

Gently, I tucked a pillow underneath her head. "Yes, sleeping."

"Something you should be doing as well," Irene said, offereing a smile. "I'll get going, but I'll be here bright and early in the morning. Expect me." I hadn't noticed her walk up to me until I felt lips against my cheek. Surprised, I looked down to see her smiling up towards me. "Sleep well, Sherlock."

And then she left just as quickly as she had appeared seconds before. My hands rubbed the red lipstick from my face drowsily. I noticed by the clumping off the material that it was different from her previous brand. Cheaper. Perhaps she was struggling financially.

In a month, she would surely have a new prince in her possession.

I stared at the red mark on my hand as my mind suddenly took itself back in time.

I remembered seeing her in the boxing ring on the Blackwood case.

I remembered how I had stolen her hankerchief.

I remembered her pink dress.

And her scarlet dress, on that note.

Her wink.

Her wine.

And, though I tried to stop myself from recalling it- her kiss. She had admitted once that I was her only weakness. I had understood in that moment. She was intimidated. She was afraid like I was. Upon looking at Irene for the first time, I had figured there would be no other woman quite like her. Brilliance wise, yes, but character wise she was unique. She remains that way.

Yet, Renadale was something entirely different. I looked down at her and _felt_ something entirely different. A longing to want to hold her. A longing to want to say thing to her that have never crossed my mind. And, no notion of such kind passed my head with Irene as often as it had been with Adkins. I was curious if Watson had slipped something into my drink, but after numerous secret tests, I noticed nothing new.

However, thinking of Irene was beginning to make my feelings register themselves on an emotional level. Yet again. And as I continued to gaze down into the face of Renadale, I couldn't help but imagine Irene's right next to it, comparing the two.

Perhaps sleep was not vital after all.


	9. Too Close for Comfort

**Thank you all once again for the lovely reviews as always! For those of you who AREN'T reviewing... Well, that's alright. As long as you're enjoying the story. However, it is always a possibility.**

**I'm also really glad that 'Rena' is sticking on, thanks to Kazz for that one!**

**Iron Man 2 = da shizz. Go see it if you haven't! I had to bring a bucket, I was drooling so much! If you love Robert D. Jr. oodles upon oddles right now, your heart will explode after watching that movie.**

**Infinite X's and O's,**

**~mistro**

**~.~.~.~.~**

Have you ever woken up with a feeling inside of you that you can't comprehend? You feel... weak, tired and you don't feel like moving even though you know you probably should. And despite everything that's happening to you, you don't know why you're feeling this way. None of it makes any sense.

But finally, you're tired of thinking about it. So, you open your eyes. But when you do, another problem presents itself. You can't hear anything. You see people above you, their mouths moving... their hands reaching up to check your temperature.

Slowly your hearing starts coming back. Words align with mouths, and you can finally hear someone speak...

"Renadale, are you awake?" I recognized my mother's voice. I faced her, wanting to answer, but incapable of mustering up any words. "Can you hear me, Renadale?" She nudged me a bit and I could feel her hands shaking from her nerves.

"Mother," I choked out. My voice was a whisper, but I could not allow myself to talk any louder than that. My throat was tightly sealed as though someone had dried it out."Your poor nerves must be... out of control..."

My mother's arms quickly found me and pressed me to her chest. "Oh! Thank the stars and the heavens!" She weeped as she patted down my unruly hair. "I thought I had lost you!" Quite frankly, I still didn't know what had happened, but having her there was surprisingly comforting. I squeezed her back tightly.

"Mother," I whispered as loud as I could. "What happened to me?"

She didn't seem to care about that question. She bluntly ignored it and held me back so she could look at my face. "You know what I find remarkable? Your boss. That man has done nothing but sit by your bedside for the past two days. He's done nothing else whatsoever!"

I could feel my eyes growing wider self consciously. Two days? I had been asleep for two days? Worst of all, Holmes had stopped working on the case just to sit by my bedside. The poor man was probably losing his mind. "Mother, you didn't answer my question..." I was attempting to turn the conversation _away _from my boss.

"Edward stopped by yesterday for a while." She still didn't seem to hear me. "I came with him. He looked absolutely petrified. He didn't speak the entire time. He too just sat by your side, occasionally holding your hand."

I clenched my fist a bit, knowing that he had placed his hand there not too long ago. Secretly, I still wished it was there. "Mother, please listen to me," I croaked out. "I don't know what happened. I-"

The door creaked open and a man with his head buried into a newspaper strutted inside. It was Holmes. I watched him carry the paper over towards his desk. He picked up a writing utensil and began to circle things and scribble notes on the side. My mother and I eyed him curiously, wondering if he had noticed that I was awake. "Has she awoken?" He asked. Apparently not.

"Yes, it would seem she has," I answered. Before he even heard me say anything after 'yes', his head shot up immediately. I was beginning to feel better until he stared at me with those brown eyes. To think! I hadn't gazed upon them in two days.

To think! It had taken me more than twenty years.

He slowly set his pen down and his expression was nothing more than calm. There was no hint of happiness to it; a disturbing reminder of his reactions at our first victim's house. His cold shoulder, his unapproving glances... I was awake, finally. Couldn't he at least smile? "Mrs. Adkins, I hate to propose anything upon you, but..."

He glanced at my mother, but she was already rushing out of the room to leave us be. I wished she hadn't of done that. After she had left, Holmes gradually made his way back up to the bed side where he sat and merely stared at the windows. "Mother said you stayed with me." I hoped my whisper would stir up some emotion in him. It only gathered silence. "I'm thankful for this, but the case is much more than important than me."

"Is it?"

I nodded. I truly believed it. My life was not worth the lives of others. "Has... anything happened since I have been here?"

"Nothing," he said softly. "No murders like the previous ones have been announced." My heart skipped a beat at this good news. "However the owner of the... initmate social gathering building..." Prostitute Row. "She had reported a few of her girls missing. I'm not sure how connected they are with the case, but I'm not surprised."

We both sat in silence for a moment. "Sherlock, I want to ask you something." He said nothing. "What happened to me?" He still said nothing. His head was down and his eyes were staring at the floor. There was no other adjective as fitting for him as _empty._ "Can you not tell me now that I am awake?"

"You can't remember?" He asked softly.

"No, I-" I stopped myself as a memory suddenly trickled through my mind. There was a quick image of a handsome young man. His face wasn't shaven. His eyes were as dark as the alley. And his voice... "Wait, I think I remember. There was a man."

Holmes quickly turned around to look at me. "A man? Keep going."

"He was young and unshaven." Holmes nodded slowly. I was obviously getting somewhere with this. "I remember him saying something to me, but I can't think of what it was..." Despite my words, my memory did not fail me. I could hear him.

_"You see, you're the ideal woman that the world should have. Do you know what I mean? You're lovely, protective, and I'm certain you're intellgent..."_

"He called me ideal," I whispered. "He was comparing me to the other girls in there." I could feel my body beginning to shake a bit at the mere thought of him. Tightly, I pulled my knees up to my chest. "He didn't like them... the way he talked so highly of me, it was apparent he thought they were ignoble..."

Holmes face lit up a bit, but my relief was being to falter. The voice in my head now, the voice I had heard two nights ago... It was the same as the one I had heard in my nightmare a few evenings before. His voice had warned before I even met him and I hadn't paid attention. My nerves were beginning to grow as bad as my mother's. I could barely solve the last case without cracking. Now, I had already gotten myself into trouble _and_ cracked on top of it. What game was I trying to play? What story book was I trying to pretend I was in?

"Renadale?" Holmes's voice rang in my head. "Are you alright?"

"I can't do this." My eyes began to sting and I noticed salty tears were threatening to fall. I knew he did not want to hear what I had just said. "I can't _do_ this anymore. I only cause problems! I ruin things for you and your partners. I'm no detective; I'm not even a good maid! How can you stand to keep me around much longer? How have you continued with it for _this _long?"

Holmes shrugged his shoulders a little bit. "Because, you are simply a better detective than you might think."

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "Do not try and fool yourself. You're not fooling me. I have done nothing but drag you into dangerous situations ever since I have met you. Irene does nothing but help. That's how things should be. On the Blackwood case, you three were a trio. Now it's me and nothing good is coming out of it."

"If it makes you less preoccupied with your own piteous nature, Miss Adler was in distress by the end of the Blackwood case and Watson was no where to be seen."

"Are you suggesting that you finished off the case on your own?"

"I'm not suggesting it, but merely stating it."

"Have you ever noted your arrogance level?"

"Of course. In fact, I'm raising it right now."

There was no point in arguing with him. At least he knew of his problems. "I'm not doing this any more. I can't." I rolled off from the side of the bed. "Trust me, this is what's best for all of us." I slipped on my shoes and began to walk around the bed but his voice stopped me short.

"Miss Adkins, you're obviously not thinking correctly. Physically, your mind and body are weak; weak enough to convince yourself that any more energetic events could cause you and others stress and possibly harm. Now, once you are more awake and to your senses, you will realize that what you are doing is a disagreeable choice. I prefer you make note of this now, before you reach your abode and realize it."

I glared up at him, but deep down I knew what he was saying was right. I was probably just making an instinctive decision, even though I still believed it to be the more helpful option. "If that's all true, then what have I done to help this case?"

Holmes cracked a bemused grin. "You almost got kidnapped and on a level of chance, you had an 89% chance of being murdered."

"Oh, yes, you're very welcome for that! I'll do it for you any time." I sat down on the bed with a thud. "I'm being honest here."

"As am I. What you don't realize is what his words to you have unlocked for us."

I replayed the scene over in my head, not enjoying it any more the second time. I saw nothing in it, but an attempt to be flattering and too close for comfort. "All he said was that I was ideal, because I wasn't selling myself. He said that I was possibly intelligent and on top of it, in a good relationship. Now, tell me... How does that connect to the case?"

Holmes stayed silent. I waited for a minute, but he still said nothing. Clearly he was testing my studies. "Holmes!" I grunted in anger. "The only way I see that this could possibly connect is..." As I racked my brain, only one thought came out of it. "The fact that he seems to dislike the prostitutes, while the two men who were the targets treated everyone equally. How lovely that this man who approached me last night... hated people like... that..."

"Miss Adkins, welcome back." Holmes said, grabbing his hat off of the end of the bed. He fliped it in the air, caught it, and placed it perfectly on his head as if he had been practicing for hours. I wouldn't have been surprised. Maybe that was what he had been doing the entire time I was asleep.

"Wait!" I said, rushing over to him as he headed out the door. "First of all, I'm tired of you always just skittering away. At least tell me where you're going." He raised a brow in amusement. "And secondly, you never told me how I got here."

Holmes shrugged. "He gagged you. The gag had a toxin in it which knocked you out. Then, he intended to take you somewhere, because when Miss Adler and I stepped outside, you were slumped over his shoulder."

I gulped. Irene had helped save me. Certainly she would ask for something in return. "And then...?"

"And then I picked you up, and carried you back here, where you have been sleeping for the past two days." He tipped his hat towards me and once again left without me knowing where he was off to.

Obviously, Holmes had taken care of the man. The only problem was; if he was the murderer, he was still out there.

~.~.~.~.~

"Holmes!" Watson shouted, stumbling out of the hospital with equipment falling out of his arms. His tools fell all across the street and he swiftly tried to gather them before they were stepped on. "Holmes! Would you please slow down?" He yelled in anger. I bent down to help him pick up his equipment. "Thank you Renadale," Watson grumbled. "I don't even know _why _I bother yelling for him."

"Me either," I laughed, helping him up. "Not only does he do what he wants, but he doesn't even seem to _know _what he wants half the time." Watson laughed at this as well. We both knew it was the bitter truth to Sherlock Holmes.

"He'll die old and alone," Watson snickered as we continued walking. "Unless of course, he realizes that's not what he wants."

The humor to it all was that it could have very well been exactly what Sherlock Holmes wanted. And I laughed again, even though somewhere in the very depths of my wishes, I had wished that wasn't the case. "Do you think he'll ever want to be with someone for a while?"

Watson grunted. "No, I can honestly say I don't."

I should have expected it, but the pain in my chest had not.

"When I think about Holmes in that manner... I do not see him being in relationship. I see him being completely in love." I faced Watson with a shocked expression on my face. Was he being truthful? Was Watson ever one to lie anyways? No, not as far as I could tell, but the statement seemed so utterly... "Ridiculous, I know." Watson tore the words from my mouth. "Yet when I think about it, he never has been in love and I think I would notice if he was beginning to."

"So, how do you know if he ever will?" I narrowed my brows.

"I just told you how," Watson said with a small chuckle.

A nervous lump arose in my throat. "You said you would be able to tell."

"Yes," Watson said with his warming smile. "That is what I said."

I shut my mouth instantly. Watson began to whistle a tune to himself, pleased with his mockery of me. I heard him as clear as day. I heard what he had said. He had said something that I had wished to hear Holmes say, but felt he never would. Now that I heard it, I didn't think I could believe it. Or rather... _want _to believe it.

"Watson?" I asked after a minute or two of more silence. He grunted in awareness. "Where exactly are we going?"

"I don't know," he grumbled. "He pulled me out of a meeting. I didn't even have time to put my supplies down, which is why I have this case with me. Perhaps it will be useful." He rolled his eyes. "Wherever we're going."

I could see Holmes a couple feet ahead with his manic hair peeping out of his hat. "I think he's going back to that alley," I said as we took a familiar road. "The alley where the man tried to take me."

"Don't worry," John whispered. "Now that I'm here, I'll make sure you don't even get into that kind of mess." He smirked, playfully nudging me on the arm. "Unlike that Sherlock Holmes fellow who just leaves you hanging."

I laughed in amusement. "He's such a _terrible _person, isn't he?"

"In some countries, I would be considered such." Watson and I both shrieked in alarm as he appeared from seemingly nowhere. "Simply because I tried to save you. You might have thought that I made you look like a fool who couldn't defend herself."

"Trust me," I chuckled as we walked side by side. "I will not be saying that any time soon."

"Swoon," Watson laughed with a roll of his eyes. "He'll catch you."

"Watson, has Mary ever been in distress?" Holmes asked as he dug his cane further into the ground.

"What? What sort of question is that to ask?"

"I was just judging my your lack of well toned arms. I figured if she ever were in distress, you would physically not be able to catch her."

Watson's eyes grew huge. "And when have you ever seen my well toned arms?" Holmes blinked a few times in silence. He was stumped. "Have I won?" Watson asked breathlessly. I could barely hear them over my growing laughter. These were the kinds of moments that I loved most. "Have I actually won an argument against the great Sherlock-"

"Our ninth case together. Your shirt got caught on a branch while we were running and you had to rip it off. Do you recall? Yes, it was Brazil. Horribly humid. Unfortunately, you had only been wearing one shirt at the time, but not unfortunate for me because it would seem as though I have won this argument years later. Though, that's not entirely surprising."

"Alright, alright," I laughed, stepping between the two of them. "As much as I love watching you two bicker, you're both wonderful in different ways. Both of you have won different battles in... life..." I was trying to sound wise but something got messed up along the way.

Watson laughed in amusement. "Bravo Miss Adkins, that was a lovely finish."

"The icing on the cake," Holmes agreed.

"Yes, well what do you expect from such a wonderful speaker such as myself?" What a joke. Before meeting them, I hardly spoke to anyone.

"Speaking of wonderful," Watson said. "It's a lovely day outside and yet we're about to go and see prostitutes. Why is that exactly?"

"We're not going there. We're going to see some scientists."

"Scientists? You expect there to be scientists over there?"

"I'm certain of it. In fact, I know a specific one we're going to." Watson and I hoped he would go into detail more, but of course he didn't. So, we walked the rest of the way in silence as the beggars and pick pockets of London suddenly engulfed us. None of us minded. To us, they were just people. We had been judged and so had they. In a way, we were similar.

~.~.~.~.~

The door was red, which was a nice surprised compared to the black and brown shades of the other London buildings. However, the crimson door did not distract us from the mice at our feet. I jumped and kicked one away as it began to nibble on my shoe. "No one seems to be home," Watson sighed after knocking numerous times. "We should leave."

Holmes wouldn't accept that. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket, and after jamming it in the door, we were allowed entrance. "Where on Earth did you get those?" Watson asked.

Holmes smirked as he dropped them into his pocket. "Adler."

Who else?

We all made our way slowly inside, just to be careful that we were alone. The coast remained clear. "It's empty," I whispered in surprise. "Completely and utterly empty. Are you sure we're in the right spot?"

Holmes made his way to another door inside. "Yes, we're just not in the right room." He twisted the knob and we all watched the new door open with a creek. It wasn't bright and welcoming like the one outside. A shudder crept down my spine as Watson and I peered inside.

"It's a laboratory," I mumbled. To my left, a long table stretched across the wall. Flasks, beakers and dead plants stretched across it's top. On my right side there were charts, boxes, and cages (some empty, some filled with rats). It was only until I was walking towards the back that I noticed the smell. "Oh, it's horrid!" I gasped. "That smell! What _is_ that?"

Watson and Holmes both sniffed the air. "I know that smell," Watson said, visibly cringing. "I'm not sure you want to know the answer."

I felt my legs suddenly grow weak. However, after my talk with Holmes earlier that day, I had to stay stable. Physically and emotionally. I leaned against a wall for support. Holmes was making his way towards the back of the room where a wooden box was shoved in the corner. "Hold your breath," he warned before cracking open the lid. He shot up from the floor instantly, slamming the top down his his foot. "Well, it seems we know where those went." What on Earth was he talking about?

"Oh my God," Watson groaned. He turned his back on the sight and closed his eyes. Whatever was in that box, both of them were trying to get away from it as much a possible. "Why do people even do this?"

"Do what?" I pouted as I held my nose shut with my fingers.

"Because it makes money," a deep voice suddenly rang out behind us. I screamed in sudden shock, rushing across the room as fast as I could. Holmes stared at our intruder with nothing but calmness. The voice was none other than my kidnapper. "I'm so glad you came back to see me, Renadale." He was unafraid of the two men beside me. Little did he know that one of them knew Brazilian fighting. I glanced at Holmes to see if he was tensing up. He was as still as a rock.

Why _was_ he so relaxed?

"How... how do you know my name?" I asked hesitantly.

Him and Holmes locked eyes for a second, but he avoided my question entirely. "It looks like Dr. Watson found what was in the box. Organs," he said, nodding. My stomach felt like it was going to return my breakfast. How did he know Watson's name too? Why did he have organs? What was going on? "That's exactly what they were. It's not the one's your looking for though. They're animal organs." I frowned and moved away from the box. Any kind of organ was discerning. What makes you think it's alright to walk right into a house and just snoop through a person's things?"

"Justice?" Watson scoffed. He was obviously as confused as I was. "Is that a good enough reason?"

The man laughed. Something was strange about it, though. It wasn't menacing or threatening. It was a _genuine_ laugh. "I certainly don't think so."

"Doctor Rupert Thompson," Holmes said smoothly.

I cannot express the shock that crossed my face. "You _know_ him?" I mumbled pathetically.

"Why do you think he didn't fetch Lestrade after I tried to take you?" Dr. Thompson chuckled from the other side of the room. Obviously, something fishy was going on and Holmes and Thompson were behind it. "He knew where to find me. He knew who I was."

Nothing but horror passed my face as I stared up at Sherlock. "You... you knew the entire time and you didn't do anything about it?"

"We will discuss this at a later date," he whispered softly.

Angrily, I shoved him away from me. "No! You can't just do that! This man tries to kidnap me and you're just going to let him get away with it?" Holmes looked across the room at Dr. Thompson, who looked just as distressed as he. "I'm such a fool for even listening to you the first time. Don't mistake me when I say I won't make that same error again."

Holmes had let the man get away. He had tricked me; both of them had. "This is much more intense than I had expected," Rupert laughed, somehow trying to lighten the mood. That wasn't about to happen so easily. "I thought perhaps Mister Holmes would have explained things by now. Perhaps I found you at a rather awkward time." Rupert continued to smile though my face was as red as his front door. "In fact, I'm afraid I might say that my fond memory of the quiet Renadale will soon be changed."

Watson and I both snapped our heads in his direction. "Your... fond memory of me?" Dr. Thompson simply nodded. "You're telling me that we've met before? Sometime other than three nights ago?"

"I'm not a scientist for any reason," he said. "I was inspired by someone. Someone you knew very well."

There was only one other scientist I had ever known. It seemed improbable, but not impossible. I knew by the way he was looking at me now... I knew who it was. "My father?" I choked. "You knew my father."

"I worked with him when you were very little. I was his apprentice. Back then, I was only sixteen years old. You had just moved into the city and I believe you were about six, so I shouldn't imagine you would remember me." I wasn't terribly fond of the story mode we were going into, considering this man was a still a criminal in my eyes, but it was interesting enough. "Your father and I got along very well. It was obvious that I was more into the study of anatomy rather than all forms of life, like your father. So, we seperated." He inched closer to me and though I was upset with him, I inched close towards Holmes. "You were very sad to see me leave, Miss Adkins. I took care of you sometimes when you father needed it."

My breath was trembling as well as my hands. If he stepped another inch closer to me, my fist would be ready to swing. "Your big green eyes were filled with tears the day I left. It made me sad, but I figured I'd see you again." He laughed and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I hate to be sentimental, but it's funny how you work for Holmes now. You were so innocent back then."

"_My _innocence?" I shouted, jumping in front of him. "Are you telling me that I have become something other than good, when you are obviously the killer here?"

"What? Killer?" He laughed, but nerves were evident on his face. "She believes me to be a killer?" He looked towards Sherlock for reassurance. "On the contrary, Miss Adkins! I am_ no_ killer."

"Is he telling the truth?" I begged towards Holmes. "Don't play these games with me!" If I wasn't tired of the nonsense before, I certainly was now. "I'm drained and confused. Please!" My palm pressed into his chest. I was pleading with Sherlock to explain himself, but I had never seen him so silent. "You're not treating me very well after I listened to every word _you_ had to say this morning."

"He is telling the truth." It had taken Sherlock too long to say it.

I looked between the two of them, unable to believe my ears. "He... he is?"

"He is an honest man."

Now my legs were really feeling weak and I wasn't sure how quickly I could get to a wall in time. Luckily, Holmes noticed my trembles and grabbed my elbows to support me. "Can someone please tell me what's going on?" I whispered softly.

"Yes, me too." Watson confessed from the other side of the room. "I'm rather confused about this entire situation."

Holmes looked up at Dr. want me to explain?" Rupert shrugged. "Well, alright. But, if you get frustrated, don't take your punches out on me." He was obviously directing that statement towards myself. Silence engulfed the room for a moment. I was anxious to hear the explanation, but perhaps it would have been something that I didn't really want to hear.

Finally, Dr. Thompson spoke up. "It was planned."

My heart froze in midbeat. "What do you... _planned_?" I stuttered. Rupert Thompson meant nothing to me anymore. My attention was glued to Holmes. "Are you telling me that you purposely drugged me and made me unconscious for two days?" Once again, no answer. "You lied to me!" I mumbled, biting my bottom lip to keep myself from crying. It wasn't working. Fat tears were falling from my eyes. "I believed you! When I thought I was the one getting you into trouble, it was the other way around!"

"Renadale-"

Furiously, I swung my hand across his face. I had never felt so strong and determined in my life, but did feel a bit sorry when his cheek flashed red. I would apologise later. For now, he deserved it. "This is not okay!" I shouted. "If you can't even be truthful with me now, how can you be truthful with me about anything else?" When I said these words, I hadn't originally thought of it as romantic. However, saying them made me realize that had been my intention. I hoped no one else caught on.

"I am assuring you that it was for the best." He stepped in front of me to block my path. "You know I would never intentionally put you in any danger."

Rupert snickered from across the room. "You got out easy. We had to make it believable in front of Miss Adler, so Holmes hit me pretty good." He pointed to an oncoming bruise near his temple. "Seeing you in danger must have really bothered him, because he did not go easy on me."

Somehow it was sweet, but not sweet enough. As I stared up at Sherlock, I could barely recognize his face behind my misty eyes. "I trusted you." My head shook back and forth. "I never signed up for this. I didn't think I could deal with the first case. What makes you think I could handle the second? And now you've gone and made it all worse."

"We were protecting you, Renadale."

"I highly doubt that."

"You should believe your boss," Dr. Thompson said. "It's good work ethic."

"Renadale, listen to me," Holmes urged. "There is not just one killer. There are several." Watson and I both found this unsettling. "A few nights before we went to the ladies down the road, several of them were kidnapped. There were far too many for one man to take by himself. He had helpers. Looking at details of the specific women, we noted that they all had certain connections with your father. One, for instance- Elizabeth Goldwin used to study at his class before dropping out. Your father apparently always found her promising... Obviously her life did not turn out in that direction, but you see my point. Your father was the kind of victim that these men sought out. A good man with a forgiving heart."

"My father's dead." My voice was dead-pan and I felt the coldness in my eyes. "Why are you talking about him like he's still here?"

Sherlock continued. "When you were at that party, Irene and I had found something. Papers with your name on it. They were in a hotel near the brothel." My stomach flipped over itself. My papers? "Irene and I assumed that they would be coming after you. We wanted to make sure that they couldn't get to you."

I looked over at Thompson for reassurance. He nodded. Watson looked just as confused as I did. "Why did they want to take me?"

"Like father like son," Dr. Thompson said. "Or in your case, daughter."

"They wanted to take me because I was a good person?" Something about my words was hard to comprehend. What kind of men were these people? Did I know them? How could I not, if they were trying to find me? I tried to think of everyone I had met while I had lived in London. Honestly, there hadn't been many. None of them seemed like killers, though. "It makes no sense," I whimpered.

Rupert's lip curled into a sour smile. "Sometimes, life has a way of surprising us."


	10. Soaked Heart

**Wow, okay, so my internet totally exploded into a million peices because of a really awful storm we had over here, so I haven't been able to get on in like a week! . I really missed this story. I hope you all didn't think I abandoned you! I'm right here, internet is running and we are rollin' out the barrell! **

**infinite x's and o's,**

**~mistro**

**P.S. REVIEW REVIEW! **

**~.~.~.~.~.~**

Despite Dr. Thompson supposedly being someone who could help us in the situation, I couldn't gather myself to trust him. He perplexed me. He claimed he got the organs from an abandoned lab across the street, but why was he there in the first place? With everything happening, we didn't have many clues. What he was offering was interesting enough; evidence none the less.

To my disappointment, Irene had come back from an important lunch with some Count from somewhere important. I wasn't quite sure. I hadn't been paying much attention when she was telling all of us earlier that morning. She met up with us outside of the... what's the best way to put this, anyways? Whore house? Brothel? At any rate, we needed to go inside and speak to the owner again. This time we needed to speak about the missing girls.

She was slumped back in her chair with her eyes drooping and her hair a mess. I felt bad for the woman. She was just trying to make a living like the rest of us. Dr. Thompson noticed my sympathetic eyes when I looked at her. "Don't feel sorry," he whispered to me. "That's what's making everyone a target." As much as I didn't want to trust this scrawny young man... he was right. I had to stop being so sensitive.

The woman looked up at all of us as we circled around her desk. There was little kindness in her stare. "There's a lot more of you here today than last time," she mumbled. "If you're here to talk about the girls, I can't tell you a thing."

"Of course you can." Irene spoke with a rather notorious smirk upon her face. "Recount deeper. By giving us imformation on their age, names, past lives and times they were taken, we will credit you with helping us quite a bit." The woman looked as though she were about to spit on Irene. She probably wasn't used to anyone subduing her.

"There were three of them," she said finally. She shot a look towards Holmes. "You're the detective here, aren't you? Shouldn't you be the one asking questions?"

"Skeptically, you're adressing _all_ detectives." The woman shot a look at our lot. It was hard to believe that we were all actually as smart as Holmes was giving us credit for. I didn't blame her. "I know it's rather stringent."

"Stringent?" The woman mumbled beneath her breath. "I'm ten times more stringent than the likes of you! I'm running a company! I can't constantly be addressed and expect to get anything done around here, now can I?"

I took a step closer to her desk. "Ma'am," I said softly. "We care deeply for these girls that have been taken from you. I can tell that you do as well. Your stress is a concern to us, and we feel it too. We want to know what has happened to these innocent young women who were taken from you. Your buisness will suffer if you don't cooperate, and your life might too."

Her eyes were fixated on my pouting face. I knew what I was doing. Show a bit of compassion to someone; they have a way of turning things around. "My buisness is already suffering," she mumbled. "Ever since they've been taken. Those girls... Emilia, Charlotte and Danielle... they were good girls. They wouldn't have harmed a fly. Men like women harsh, but what man doesn't like a sweetheart?" The men nodded except for Holmes who, to my frustration, was looking at me. "They brought in a lot of buisness. Maybe people view us as scum, but those girls? Never. They were never scum and they never will be."

"We believe you full heartedly," I said, offering a small smile. "That is why we wish to help them. That's our job and that is why we are here." The owner grabbed a fan from her desk and began to cool herself down. She clearly hadn't planned on spilling some of her heart to us. "Now, please. I know you probably wish to be done with the situation, but we need to know when they were taken."

She tensed up a bit, but after a moment came to her senses. "A couple of nights ago. They were outside this time, so no one was paying any attention to them." Her voice grew softer until she stopped speaking all together. Gently, I placed my hand on hers. She looked up at me with surprise, but I gave her another smile. We needed as much information as we could get. "I didn't see what was going on; I was in here. It wasn't until the next morning that I had noticed they were missing. No blood outside, no jewlrey pieces fallen off... They were just gone."

The whole room was silent. She had told us everything that she could; we all knew that. The rest was up to us. I removed my hand from hers, which I noticed she had been clutching for a while. "Holmes," I said, foccusing my direction on him. "We need to look around the area."

The woman shot me a worried look. "Outside of your building," I reassured with a nod. "We won't be disrupting anything inside. If you wouldn't mind, we would really appreciate taking a look around your building."

The woman stood up from her chair. "You are such a lovely girl, Miss..."

"Adkins."

"Miss Adkins." She wore a shaky smile. "Thank you so much."

I shook her hand lightly. "Do not thank me. Despite what Mr. Holmes says, I'm not really a detective. I'm an inventor."

She cocked her head to the side quizically. "I wouldn't have guessed that for the life of me." She looked over at everyone else. "Don't lose this girl. She's got a way of getting to people. I can assure you that."

"Losing her?" Holmes questioned. "No. We don't plan on that being the case."

~.~.~.~.~

We made our way outside, but Dr. Thompson pulled me back from the others. I had to admit that I was very uncomfortable with this gesture, but I wasn't going to fight him off and make a scene. "I can tell you're very disturbed by me."

"I'm glad to see that your senses are still in tact, Doctor." I tried my best to avoid any eye contact he was feeding me. Surely he wasn't going to do anything with Holmes only a few paces in front of us, but a girl has got to watch herself.

His smile softened and as I finally looked at them I noticed sadness. He gazed towards the ground, his feet scuffing against the cobblestone road. "I wish you weren't," he muttered. "I'm not really all that bad once you get to know me."

"You make me nervous, I won't lie to you. I don't see why you and Holmes lied to me about being a real kidnapper. None of it makes any sense, but perhaps that's because I'm a mere inventor."

"I find inventors to be genius." Well... That might have been flattering, but I wasn't going to fall for it. "We're living in a revolution. Where on Earth would we be without inventors?"

"Alright, don't flatter me. None of my inventions are worth anything. I can assure you of that." I rose my chin a bit higher, though I would always be the smaller one. "I still don't trust you."

He sighed heavily, running his hands through his deep black hair. "I know you don't, which is why I'm trying to make amends. I found organs that weren't mine. They weren't ethical. Once I found them, I immediately went to find the great Sherlock Holmes. I knew he was on the case, and I thought it might have been an important find. Turns out, it was. I didn't ask to get into this mess. I'm a scientist. I study old things that have already been discovered. I'm no detective. I don't discover new things, despite my efforts to try."

"Then you are a detective."

"No, just a bad scientist," he chuckled.

I was about to go on, but Holmes raised his hand in front of us. We had reached the other side of the building and were greeted with a large hole in the Earth. "Sewage," I mumbled, cocking my head to the side as we stopped. "You're right Mister Thompson. We are living in a revolution."

"Fascinating," he laughed, clasping his hands together.

"Fascinating?" Irene scoffed, stepping back a bit. "Only the british would find that-"

Irene was interrupted with Holmes wildly ripping off his coat. We all looked at him in shock, my pulse unwillingly picking up a bit. He handed Watson his hat and his cane, and began to walk closer to the hole. "Woah!" Watson shouted, tossing his things onto the ground. "Holmes, what on Earth do you think you're doing?" Watson grabbed his shirt as he walked down the ladder.

Holmes knitted his brows together in frustration. "I thought I was descending down a ladder, Watson."

"Yes, your desire is quite apparent," he grumbled, tugging at Sherlock's sleeve in attempt to get him to crawl back up. "However, I think you're beginning to go out of your mind." Holmes simply smiled. "Alright, you're even _more_ insane than you were before. They're still constructing the area down there. It's not safe."

"Watson, nothing we do is defined as _safe_. Rather, a staple."

"Holmes, Watson is right," I agreed. "You shouldn't be going down there alone. It's probably unstable and dangerous." I peered through the hole, unable to see anything. "Not to mention, there is sparse light enterance."

Holmes tugged his arm away from Watson. The doctor rolled his eyes and walked away with a bilious grunt. "You're absolutely correct, Miss Adkins." Holmes bestowed me with a smirk. "I should not be going down here alone." Unexpectedly, he reached his hand towards mine.

"No!" I laughed and took a few steps backwards. "I will not be entereing anything that has to do with human waste!"

"Miss Adkins, unlike Miss Adler, you are not from America. Therefore, you should find this terribly intreguing and with your slim frame, you can slink around the area smoothly and help me guide my way." He continued to outreach his hand. "I also presume you don't mind fringing your dress."

I scoffed, a bit offended. "As un-lady like as I might appear to be, I do happen to care about my clothes. We can't all have enormous piles of money."

"Come quickly." He anxiously ignored my comment. "We must make this expedient." I stood my ground. I was not going to enter the construction of an underground sewage canal. That was not on my list of things that I had been wanting to do. "Very well," he said, dropping his hand and sliding down the ladder.

I saw his form disappear into darkness, and my inhibitions were suddenly let lose as I rushed down to the ladder and began to climb down it. "Miss Adkins!" I heard Watson shout, rushing up to the edge and crouching down. "Don't be as mad as Holmes!"

Holmes was not about to go down alone if I had any say in it. That was far too notorious, and I was a young lady. Courtesy was on my list of adjectives to strive for. I was about to protest and tell Watson that he should in fact join us, but I felt something tightly grab my waist and pluck me off from the ladder. I swatted and kicked until I realized that it was only Holmes. "Thank you for joining me, Miss Adkins." I could see part of his smile with the help of light from above.

I removed his hands from my waist and began to walk forward into the darkness. "I didn't do it for you. I did it for the case."

I could hear his shoes clipping behind me, but he said nothing afterwards. In my attempt to be even slightly headstrong, I began to walk forward with no idea where I was headed. Darkness encircled us and I could not see a thing. I had to at least pretend that I knew what I was doing. I was not about to be helpless in front of Holmes... again.

"Miss Adkins-" he called out after a few minutes of walking.

"Don't say a word," I mumbled. "I'm just trying to find light."

He stayed silent for an entire thirty seconds before trying again. "Miss Adkins, it seems-"

"Please stop speaking." My voice was a bit more firm with frustration. "It's not like you know what you're doing down here either."

I actually had a reason to be hostile with him. I was trying to not think about it, but the scene kept occasionally slipping into my mind. Irene and Sherlock. Sherlock and Irene. I knew that when I was climbing down the ladder, I was too upset with him and that I shouldn't of been doing it. However, somewhere in my heart I still cared about his safety.

When we were at Doctor Thompson's house earlier, Irene had showed up. Holmes had told her about the plan to 'kidnap' me and therefore told her where we would be that afternoon. She met us there and her appearance was drooled over as expected.

Just before we left, Holmes had to excuse himself, but Irene had to conveniently follow suite. Watson, Dr. Thompson and I had waited for quite a long time. In fact, it was rather ridiculous at how long we waited for those two and each passing minute twisted my heart. Eventually, I went to see what the problem was.

And, sure enough, I didn't like what I found.

Holmes and Irene were in a room with a few crates and nothing else. They were standing in the middle. One of her hands lingered on his cheek with the other on his chest. Their eyes were closed. Their lips were one. His hands were on her arms. Heated passion was evident in the air. I could feel my eyes swelling up at the scene, but when I watched them kiss, I couldn't restrict myself from disapproving.

They were perfectly matched.

However, I had somehow forgotten that breathing was a key factor. As I began to sputter for air, my hands grabbed the side of the door to balance myself. As I did so, Holmes and Irene both turned to face me. Holmes instantly dropped her, but she remained calm."Miss Adkins-"

Holmes's excuse was pointless. I had already left before I could hear one. My eyes were seeing things that my heart couldn't fathom. I bit back my tears as I came back to Watson and Thompson. I wasn't crying, but my composure was faltering. "Rena?" Watson stepped a bit closer in concern. He knew what had happened.

I made no response. What could I say? That he was mine? It would have been a lie.

I went throughout the rest of the day, not wanting to think or discuss it with anyone. Later on, I was down in the sewer with the one man I didn't want to be with. Life had a funny way of bringing two people together who absolutely shouldn't be. Or, maybe we were together because of my lack of better judgement.

Why does my heart defy my head so often?

My feet suddenly defied me too as my foot slipped off of the edge of the path and into something wet. I shrieked, quickly pulling it out of the water. "Miss Adkins, are you alright?" Holmes suddenly ran into me, causing me to stumble once again into the water. This time, both of my feet fell in and I froze in disgust. He heard the splash and instantly jumped down with me as the smell suddenly filled our noses.

"Brilliant!" I laughed, though my attitude was much less than satisfactory. "Now both of my feet are soiled and so are yours. We're both going to get sick! Not to mention; we'll carry this stench with us the rest of the way." Furiously, I tugged off my stockings and shoes, tossing them into the water.

I climbed back onto the paved pathway and continued marching forward with my soaked fet. Holmes chucked his shoes and socks into the water as well, and quickly rush behind me. "That was unavoidable." Though it was dark, I knew he was right beside me. "I must admit that I do feel awful about your shoes."

My face was steaming hot. I didn't know how much more I could take in one day. Instinctively, I wanted to shove him right back into that filthy water. I would have, if something wouldn't have brushed by my feet, causing me once again to yell and almost fall over the edge. Holmes caught me before I stumbled over, bringing me to my feet. "I'm fine," I mumbled. "I would have much rather have fallen into the water."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Believe it." I picked up my dress and walked further away from him. "Rats down here would be a much better companion than you, I'm certain."

Was it really me talking? I almost sounded like my mother. That was enough to send a shiver down my spine.

He stayed silent once again, and after minutes of no one talking, I thought perhaps he had disappeared. I would have called out to him, but I didn't want to care.

We reached a part in the underground tunnel where light was actually visable. To our luck, our path was cut into three routes. Finally, I could see his dirty and unhappy face looking back at me. "I thought you had disappeared."

"You wished for me to be quiet, so I merely followed orders."

"Why? You've never taken orders before."

"From Lestrade, no. You seem to have a certain way with me."

My heart twisted for a moment, but I turned my back. "As long as you were silent, I was happy. Now, I am taken over by mere frustration. We've been walking for nearly ten minutes and haven't heard or seen anything. And now we have three different options."

Holmes brushed past me and turned down the left tunnel. "It's this way."

I remained glued to my spot. "Oh, really? And how would you know?"

He didn't answer, he just kept walking. Even though I didn't want to be with him, I wouldn't choose being alone over it. The men who had taken the girls could have easily been down here. If that was the case, I didn't want to find them by myself. So, once again, I followed him.

Light was streaming down from occasional vents above. I could see Holmes ahead of me and watched him with a weary eye. To my surprise, he was beginning to stop. "What are you doing?" I muttered. "Keep wakling."

He spun around, his brown eyes noticeably tender. "Not until you listen to me." I tried to step around him, but he got in my way. "Cooperate and perhaps you can continue walking."

I looked down at my shoeless feet which were black from who knows what. I suppose a short break from walking couldn't do me or dirty skin any harm. "Alright," I whispered with my head hung. "Just make it fast."

"Would it come as a surprise to you if I explained that the situation was not intentional?"

The longer I looked down, the more my throat began to tighten. I knew that I didn't have the strength to hold my tears back, which was why I was trying not to think about the scene. "It's not a surprise," I mumbled. "The surprise was you kissing her back."

"Yes, I did," he said firmly. I shot my watery eyes up towards him in surprise. He had just admitted it? What game was he playing? "Miss Adkins, if Edward Brettingham were to have kissed you, would you have pulled away?"

I was about to protest; Edward had nothing to do with it. He didn't need to get involved. Yet, when I thought about what Holmes was asking me, I knew he was right. I wouldn't have told Edward to stop kissing me if he would have. He was mysterious and beautiful. He was gentle and loving. Why would I stop him? "Perhaps not, but soon enough I would have realized that what I was doing was wrong. I wouldn't have waited until you showed up to stop kissing him."

"You came at a crucial point, Miss Adkins. You came moments after she brought her lips to mine-"

"Crucial or not, I was there and I saw it happen." Once again, I tried to veer my way around him, but he refused to let that happen.

"Renadale." My name. He said my name. Was my heart fluttering or had a bird found it's way into my chest? "Understand what I am trying to say." I knew that what he was trying to say was that he cared more about me than Irene Adler. Difficult as it is to believe, I knew that was what he wanted. How could he choose me over a jewel? A raven over a dove? Yet, as I watched his hand tremble, I knew he was truthful. "I care... for you, Miss Adkins," he stumbled over his words. "I-I do. I think-"

"Stop," I whispered. My head hung like a punished child. "I believe you. You don't have to say anything else." The fact that he even said he cared deeply for me was more than my mind could comprehend. The fact that he had said my name was enough to make my heart burst. If he were to go on, I probably would have fallen into the water again. "Let's just go, yes?" I lightly took his upper arm and turned him around so we could keep walking.

We walked a little furthur in silence. I would have pressed on if I hadn't run into his frozen body. "What's wrong?" I mumbled.

"Renadale, don't look upwards." Genuine fear arose in his voice. What on Earth was happening?

Despite what he told me, my curiosity got the better of me. My head rose, but I wish it hadn't. The bodies of the three girls were spread out on the floor, parts of their bodies undressed and their skin cut open. Red oozes from many spots, and the stench was more than I could withhold. My stomach was a weak thing; much weaker than my heart, and I had to turn around to try to release my breakfast.

Holmes quickly grabbed my hair, pulling it away from my face. He sighed heavily in frustration. "I told you not to look." I could barely hear him over my sobbing. He quickly pulled out his hankercheif, dabbing at my mouth, then throwing it into the water. He then helped me stand up, only this time pulling me tightly to his chest. "You don't have to look any more."

"Of course she does," a voice rang out.

"You're stuck down here now," a completely different voice said.

"She's lovely. Isn't she, gentlemen?" Another voice replied.

I froze against Sherlock's body as I heard the words. Dr. Thompson _wasn't_ the voice in my dream. It wasn't him. It was that man. The third one. I saw him walk out from the darkness. And to my great displeasure...

I knew who he was.


	11. Goodnight, My Someone

**There's no internet in my aunt's house in Florida, so, I must go to the local cafe to upload this.**

**Excuse me if Holmes is a little... OOC at the end of this chapter, it was kind of difficult to write... And I was craving some lovin'. XD **

**Infinite X's and O's,**

**Beach Babe Mistro! **

**(ENJOY YOUR SUMMER EVERYONE!) **

~.~.~.~.~.~

"Miss Adkins!" I heard Holmes shout a bit louder than his normal murmur. I couldn't bring myself to turn my head back towards him. I was too busy staring into the face of Jacob Irons. "Renadale," Holmes said a bit softer.

"Renadale Adkins," Jacob said with an approving nod. "I knew our paths would meet again. Perhaps I knew sooner than you did, but on the contrary, I can tell that you are more than surprised to see me down here."

I looked over his dirty face and curly blonde hair. Even his dirty finger nails were all too familiar. It hadn't been long enough for me. At any rate, I didn't want to see anyone down here with the face of a murderer. Whilst looking at Jacob, I had realized that unfortunately, I had. "Jacob Irons...?" I muttered, stepping a bit furthur into Holmes. "It was you? You killed these innocent people?"

He blinked a few times, shocked by my question. "Me? Do I look like someone who could kill by myself? I'm not nearly strong enough. I'm only a botanist. I'm not good with anything else but the technical elements." He glanced over at the man on his right. "It wasn't just me."

"So it _was_ a gang," I whispered, unable to take my eyes off of the three men. "It was the three of you who killed those people?" They all exchanged amused smiles with one another. "There were _more_ of you, then?"

I felt Holmes's grip on my upper arm tighten when I began to tremble more.

"Holmes!" Someone shouted behind Jacob. "Holmes, it's filthy down here! Where-" Watson paused in his tracks as he saw all of us. As he looked towards the other men, his face grew a bit more white. "I see I've come at a critical time."

"Dr. Watson," Jacob said with an elegant tip of his head.

Watson looked at him for a moment, not seeming to note his presence. It took him a few more seconds to redirect his gaze. "Irons?" He asked with his brows coming together. Bitter truth hit him at that moment and his face fell as he instantly understood. "Ah-ha."

There was a long silence. No one had anything to say. I turned my head away from the men and to the beautiful young girls lying dead before me. I felt a gentle hand turn it back around. "I said don't look," Holmes said softly.

Jacob looked towards us; his face expressionless. "That's very charming, isn't it?" He said. "I always thought you looked_ extra_ nice around one another, considering Sherlock Holmes isn't nice to anyone. In fact, I always thought you were very lovely myself, Miss Adkins." His voice was flowing and soft. It was a voice that could have put you to sleep. It made me sick to know that it belonged to a killer. "I'm actually quite pleased that you've come to see me." I could have been wrong, but I thought I saw his eyes sparkle then. "You know I can't resist a beautiful girl, though my heart was taken by Miss Goodman."

I knew. He was in love with my insane neighbor. That didn't end very well. "If only the world had more beautiful woman," Jacob grunted, looking towards the girls on the floor. "It'd be much better for the rest of us."

As if on que, Irene and Thompson marched in. Irene's face was flustered as she hiked up her dress from overflowing water. "No wonder this is a perfect hiding spot," she moaned. "It smells awful down here."

Jacob shot her a daring look. "That's because you're in a sewer." I noticed by his face and tone of voice that he was not instantly bemused with Miss Adler. It came as quite a surprise, but her makeup and flamboyant clothing were probably to blame. She wasn't showing her natural beauty, in which Jeremy seemed undoubtably charmed with.

She looked at the three men and then turned to see the girls on the floor. "I see," she laughed darkly. "One for each of you?"

"I'd watch what you suggest," Jacob shot back towards her.

She scoffed, obviously offended. "Just who is this man?" Jacob rolled his eyes. I watched the whole thing, trembling a few feet away.

"He's a scientist," Watson mumbled. "He worked with Renadale's father."

Irene's face instantly shot to mine. For once, I didn't find it confusing. For once, I understood her look. Vicious. "You know him?" I nodded. "You know the murderer?" I didn't nod my head. Technically, I only knew _one _murderer. "You didn't even bother to inform us that he could have had something to do with this?"

"How was I supposed to know?"

"This is why I suggested spliting up! This is why I said we shouldn't all do this together. Someone would screw up eventually and I figured it would be you who-"

A gun shot went off. I yelped in surprise, as Jacob held a pistol high above his head. His cold eyes were looking over towards Irene, who looked terrified out of her mind. "Whoever you are, I find you quite bothersome." He looked at one of his men. "Take her somewhere else."

Irene's eyes grew wide. "What?" A larger man came over and took her arm, getting ready to pull her away. "Don't touch me," she snapped, yanking her arm back. "I can walk myself."

Jacob grunted. "Americans."

I would have shouted to try and get her back, but I knew none of us were going anywhere either. We were all going to be stuck down there as far as I could see. We might as well be getting used to it.

Jacob took a step towards Dr. Thompson until he stopped short a few feet and cocked his head. "Thompson." The doctor raised his brow in acknowledgment. "I'm assuming you're the one that took my animal organs?" He nodded bitterly. "That's quite a shame. Now I'll have to replace them with some other ones." His eyes glanced towards the girls. "Or, maybe _you'd_ be willing to give them to me?"

Dr. Thompson laughed. "I'm not a good enough person for you to take them from."

Jacob gave the slightest hint of a smile. "That's true, Dr. Thompson. You are not fit for my collection."

"What makes you do that?" I asked softly, taking him by surprise. He looked at me with his grey eyes shimmering in the tiny bit of light. "What makes you kill good people? Wouldn't it be more convienient for you to kill other murderers... like yourself?"

"I can see where you'd assume that," he sighed. "Your father always said something to me, however; something that was both accurate and uplifting. Perhaps you can remember it? 'Whenever a life is treated well.._.',_" He stopped talking, wanting me to finish. I didn't want to finish. I didn't want to remember. "You're not going to finish it, are you?"

"'The heart stays stronger'," Holmes mumbled instead.

Jacob turned to him. "Bravo, detective."

I shot Holmes a bewildered look. "I can understand how Jeremy knew it, but you...?"

"When you were sick your mother told me many stories about you and your father," he explained softly. "She mentioned that quote. I merely remembered it. She said it stuck with you quite a bit."

"It meant a lot to me."

"Yes." Holmes mumbled absent mindedly. "Yes, that's why I remembered it."

I couldn't get a single word out before Jacob stepped forward, his hands harshly finding my back. I yelped at his cold touch. "I'm sorry that I have to interrupt. Truly, I am. However, I have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it." He was mumbling all of this very softly and very quickly, but as he did so he pushed me forwards towards another tunnel. "Do not try and fuss, because then I'll merely shoot you and we have a big enough mess to worry about."

I heard the rest of the men being shuffled out as well. Jacob stopped in the middle tunnel and began to walk me down it. "You'll have to stay with your American friend," he whispered to me as we walked. "I'm sorry about that."

"You should be," I grumlbed in agitation. "You're not the one getting shoved down a sewer." Jeremy simply smiled at that as he pushed me down on the cold wet ground next to Irene. She had rope around her feet and hands as well as a gag in her mouth. She shot me a look of warning. "What?" I snapped. "What could I possibly do to you?"

She rolled her eyes away from me, shaking her head. I turned away from her as well as my own limbs were being tied. "I'm sorry about this Miss Adkins," Jacob muttered as he shoved a gag in my mouth. I winced at the taste of dirt and grimy water. "Your father always told me to treat a lady with respect, but no one got the chance to help Emily. I don't see why any other good woman should get the chance either."

He left us then, cold and miserable in the underground sewage system. As his last words echoed through my ear, it was then that I had realized how unquitting his love for Emily had been. That, or he was insane. Perhaps a bit of both.

I felt a light nudge on my leg. I looked over see Irene staring back at me. I shrugged as if to ask her what she wanted. She jerked her head backwards as though she wanted me to do something for her. I shrugged again, not following. She rolled her eyes, repeating her movements. I still wasn't getting the gesture. Puffing a breath of hot air from her nose, she turned around so her back was towards me. I noticed a small knife in her collar. Aha! That was what she was talking about. I looked over at the guard who was 'watching' us. He was scuffing the bottom of his shoe on the cobblestones and kicking his other one in a puddle of infected water. I winced in disgust, but quickly snatched the knife from Irene's neckline with my tied hands.

Unfortunately, since _I _was the one trying to save the day, something had to go wrong. I dropped it. Of course it made a rather loud clatter against the stone. I grabbed the attention of the guard who looked less than pleased. "What was that?" He snarled, narrowing his bushy brows towards us. "This some kind of joke?"

Irene and I pretended not to have any idea what he was talking about. He glared at us once more before he turned around. "Women..."

Quickly, I snatched the knife up this time (without dropping it) and pressed my back to Irene's as I began to saw off her wrist bands. After we got out of those, I wasn't sure what the plan was, but I could feel the flow of blood in my wrists slowing. Things needed to happen quickly. Eventually I could feel the rope break; Irene's hands finally free. She took the knife from me and began to saw through mine. Just... not quick enough.

Yet again, we were noticed by the guard, whose eyes grew wide at the sight of us. "What on Earth...?" Irene quickly stopped what she was doing, pulled the knife out from behind her back and tossed it as hard as she could towards the man. "Oh-"

Square in the chest. I had to admit that it was an impressive toss. However, neither of us were out of our feet ties, therefore leaving Irene to crawl her way over to the recently deceased guard. She crawled over to his chest, grabbing hold of the knife with both hands and yanking it out with a grunt. She spat out the gag in her mouth and beamed towards me, outstretching her arms. "That felt refreshing, didn't it?"

I sat, silent. Partially because I was surprised at her suddenly bright nature and partially because I had a gag in my mouth.

"Oh, right!" She laughed, crawling back over to me. "You can't speak with that in your mouth!" She quickly sawed off of the rest of my ropes before tossing them aside. Greedily, I yanked the fabric from my mouth as she cut her leg ropes.

"Thank you." I was dizzy as I stood. "I can feel all of the blood rushing back."

Irene laughed. "Yes, that _is_ what happens when people tie ropes around your limbs." She patted me on the back, whiping the bloody knife on her dress. "Alright, let's go get the other guys." She began to walk away, but I grabbed her dress and pulled her back.

"We need to talk."

Her face was blank. "I don't see why."

"You know why."

Her eyes flashed. "It doesn't mean we need to talk about it."

I brought my hand to my hip. This was a move that I might have done once or twice in my life, but it was effective because Irene took a step back in worry. "I want to know if he was against it." She stayed silent. "Will you not admit the truth?"

"He said no." She finally confessed. "He said no, but I wouldn't accept it." Her smile was laced with sadness. "You're not the only one who cares about him, you know." She whispered. "You're not the only one who loves him."

My heart skipped a beat.

_Did she say love?_

"I-I do not _love _anyone," I whispered furiously beneath my breath. "That is illogical!"

Irene looked over at me with unbelieving eyes. "You may be hard to read Renadale, but you're not too hard to figure out on this one. At least not from my perspective." She laughed softly. "To think... you haven't even noticed your own feelings."

"I haven't _noticed _them because they aren't there." Irene laughed at me once again. "Laugh all you wish. But, I know what my heart feels. And what I feel is not love. Certainly, not. Do I wish it was? Perhaps. Yet, I am a woman who has never known or understood the joys of companionship before and I think I would be able to recognize the feeling of love coming upon me."

Irene winked. "No, Renadale. That's exactly why you _wouldn't_."

She said no more. She just offered me another sad smile and made her way slowly out of the tunnel. I watched her slim frame disappear from my view, her long dress slinking out from around the tunnel corner. My heart swelled a bit at this scene. She really cared about him, didn't she? Holmes was her weakness. Her one weakness.

I was stealing that away from her, wasn't I?

My mind rambled through the ideas. Holmes could be with me, because he missed her. Yes, that was a possibility. Whatever the reason, they had been... interested... in one another before. The only thing I was doing by being in the picture was messing it up.

I nodded my head sternly. I would get the case over with and get out.

~.~.~.~.~

It wasn't a surprise to turn the corner and already find the other two guards dead. Watson, Holmes and Dr. Thompson looked up at Irene and I with amused eyes as we saw the sight before us. "Impressive," Irene mumbled, kicking a dead man's foot.

"Highly," Holmes sighed. "Now, let's leave before we find out that we cannot." He brushed past all of us, taking the way that we came in. "If my thoughts are lined up correctly, there should be a few more men. Which means another hiding spot. One that is less complex. One out in the English country side."

I raised my brows. "We're going to the country?"

Holmes trudged on into the dark, his pace quicker than before. "Perhaps. That is where I assume the other hide out will be located."

"And... why is that exactly?" Watson asked from the far back of our line.

"Their first victim lived out in the far country side. It was their first kill, so I assumed that they were planning very carefully. Also, there were no organs stashed down here that belonged to the girls. And Dr. Thompson does not have theirs. Therefore, logically, it must be somewhere outside of the city."

"How do you know they're not keeping them somewhere else in the city?" I questioned.

"They're young," Holmes replied quickly. "They don't have a wide range of creativity when it comes to murder."

I scoffed, even if his point did seem correct. "So, English country side it is?"

"Indeed. That is, if we make it out of here without your neighborhood admirer showing back up." In the silence, I could imagine Holmes smiling. "The game is on!"

~.~.~.~

The country side was much more peaceful than when we had visited it before. We booked a few rooms in a small inn down the road from the first victim's house. I still felt weary. I felt as though Jacob and his pack could be around... watching us.

"Miss Adkins," Holmes said, setting down a sealed envelope on a table in my room. "This is for you. It seemed to have slipped my mind to give it to you." I looked at the back. It said it was from Edward.

"Oh, yes," I growled. "I'm sure you just forgot about it." Holmes looked at me for a brief moment, and then left the room without another word. I shut the door behind him, sighing heavily and falling back upon my bed. I wished then that I could have fallen asleep forever. Yet, the letter was taunting me. I scooped it up into my hands, unfolding it delicately in my fingers. The perfectly scrolled hand writing flew itself across the page, as though it were written in a hurry.

_My dearest Renadale,_

_ You are asleep next to me right now. I suppose it might be a silly thing to be writing to you when you are beautifully slumbering here beside me, but I wanted to write this to you and tell you what I feel at this moment. _

_ I long to kiss you, Renadale Adkins, though I know it would not be wise. You have known me for such a little while, but I still feel as though you are the one who can make me happy. I enjoy horse back riding and I am not interested in anything too straining, as you may have noticed by my lack of muscle. Blue is a lovely color on you and my favorite drink is red wine. Scandelous, I know. _

_ I wish to speak to you, so you may know more about me. I wish to speak to you, so that I may know more about you. Love is a painted picture of nature on a delicate canvas, and by looking at you, I am ready to pick up my brush._

_Yours,_

_Edward Brettingham_

I sat with the letter frozen in my hands. I could see them shaking, but I could feel nothing. He felt so deeply about me? And how did I feel? Edward was irresistable. Any woman or man could see that. I knew so little about him, but what was the pain in learning more? Why would it bother me to learn more about him? To think, he had written this to me and then ran into me on the streets without me reading it. Perhaps he thought I had... perhaps me running off was a rejection.

My eyes grew wide. I had to tell him the truth as soon as possible. I would be in town hopefully in a few days. He would have to wait.

Sweetly, I pressed his note against my heart. Perhaps Edward was the one I was looking for after all. How would I ever know if I never tried? The door suddenly flung open, a ruddy faced Holmes in the doorway. "Did you read it?" He mumbled, his eyes glued to the ground. His nature was almost... nervous, if I dare say it. Something was wrong.

"Yes." I was afraid that I might scare him.

His eyes frantically shot up. "What did you say? Will you be writing him back?"

I stood up from my bed in shock. "Is that really you place to be asking those kinds of questions?"

He nodded quickly. "Yes, I think so. You work for me. I think I have every right to know if my worker is lagging about and confessing love to someone when she should be working on the task that is at hand-"

"Lagging about?" I gasped, taking a step closer towards him. "You just handed me this letter today! I never even got the chance to write him back because you never gave it to me!" Angrily, I shoved the note into his chest. "You're certainly one to talk about confessing love and fooling around!"

"Miss Adkins," he grumbled. "I think you are taking this situation entirely out of hand. We have a case to focus on."

I felt my jaw drop. He turned on his heels and left the room just as randomly as he had entered. _Did that all just happen?_ _Had that all happened before my eyes with no illusions whatsoever?_ Furiously, I slammed my door shut. I was dying for this case to be over.

Why couldn't I have just been a maid?

I groaned, pulling my face tiredly down with my hands in distress. What was happening to my small world? It was slowly growing larger; more and more confusion letting it's way in. Wherever this secret hiding spot was, we needed to find it quickly.

I flung myself across my bed; wishing I could sleep forever. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case at all. The case was that I needed to get up and to go outside of this muggy little inn to find human organs buried somewhere. Brilliant.

O crawled off of the bed and groggily headed downstairs. I was not in the mood to listen to Irene or Holmes's pointless jabbering. The more I thought about it, the more perfect they were for one another. Perhaps _they _could understand the other without their minds errupting. Watson noticed my distress as we both headed out of the inn. "Are you alright, Rena?" He tossed his bowler hat on. "Your face is awfully flushed."

"I guess there's just a lot on my mind," I muttered through clenched teeth.

"There's no surprise there," Watson said with a smile. "Life's not half as bad as you think it is."

We continued walking, but I stopped speaking to think about what he said. Was he right? Was life not as bad as I thought it was? I glanced down at my shoes. Well, at least I had those. "I know," I muttered finally. "I know." Watson simply smiled. "I don't want to offend you, but don't you ever get tired of this?"

He stared back towards me blankly. "You haven't noticed that yet?"

I laughed full heartedly at his response. He had a point. "Why don't you just stop?" I saw his eyes redirect themselves towards his engagement ring. My heart skipped a beat at the romantic gesture. "You really love her."

His eyes caught mine, our lips not moving for what felt like years. Finally, he spread his mouth into a grin. "Words cannot explain what I feel for Mary."

"Then why do you continue on with this job? Why do you stay away from her?"

"We all have a duty to fullfil," he said admirably. "And although I feel as though my heart's duty is to marry my fiancee as soon as possible, I know that there are things that must be accomplished first." He nodded his head towards Holmes, several feet ahead of us. "Yet my brain _and _my heart tell me not to leave him just yet. Not yet."

I kicked up the dirt on the road as we trudged on silently. I wished somewhere deep inside my heart that one day I could find the courage to decide what was right for my life like John Watson could. Sure, Holmes was a saviour to all of London, but in my heart John Watson was my true hero.

~.~.~.~.~

We stopped at the beginning of a small wooded area just north of the first victim's house. His parents were no where to be seen. I wasn't surprised that they had left. Who in their right mind would stay?

The forest seemed a logical hiding place since it was heavily covered and reasonably dense. None of us looked entirely thrilled to enter it. Irene, who had dressed in casual wear for the occasion, still looked horrified. "I suppose we might as well get it over with," she sighed heavily, hiking up her skirt and making her way inside.

"It's a shame that we have to go in there. With all of the branches we'll be breaking under our feet, they'll be able to hear us." I said.

"If they were wise themselves, they could have evenly distributed them." Holmes spoke as he entered the trees. "Just as I suspected." His eyes scanned the scattered sticks. "All uniformly tossed, but none spread far enough to make a path. Admittedly, it's the most clever thing they have done so far." Sure, maybe these kids weren't the best criminals, but the fact that it was taking us more than a couple of days to solve the case made it seem otherwise. I kept my mouth closed, weary of any possible arguments that I might bring up.

Especially since Holmes' mood was a bit more rash than normal.

"I don't like this place," I mumbled as we continuted to crouch our way through the forest. The trees were closely planted next to one another and most of them were falling or already tumbling. "I feel like there are eyes everywhere."

"That's because there is," Holmes whispered. "Birds."

I gulped nervously. Birds or not, it bothered me.

"I love how comfortable you're making everyone feel," Dr. Thompson snickered from the back. "Remind me why I'm here again?" No one said anything. We didn't really even know. "Oh, well _that's_ certainly comforting."

We continued on, none of us uttering a word. We were all too scared to speak. If someone were around, most of us had no weapons to protect ourselves. Our only goal was to remain as quiet as possible. Wherever Holmes was going, hopefully we would find it soon.

We could have walked for days and I wouldn't have known the difference. I swear we were walking in circles or the forest never ended. My legs were beginning to feel as though they were going to fall apart and I could feel the cold air from the night breeze sweeping through the trees. "Holmes, wait." I muttered, grabbing at his coat sleeve. He slowly spun around, his eyes just as tired as mine. "Must we keep going? We've been walking for days..."

"That's not entirely true, Miss Adkins. I'm afraid you're delusional."

I felt my eyelids beginning to sag. "I just want to go to sleep," I yawned. I could feel my knees buckling beneath my dress, but I did nothing to stop them.

"Fantastic," Holmes grumbled angrily, snatching me underneath the arms and hauling me back up to my feet. "Miss Adkins, I insist you stop speaking and continue walking. We are not turning back around-"

"We're not?" Irene shouted a bit too loudly for all of sleepy minds. "We've been waking here for hours and we've found nothing! What do you mean we're not going back to the inn?"

"We'll head back. Just not yet." I began to slip again, but Sherlock grabbed my waist and hauled me back up. "Stop doing that Miss Adkins."

Watson rubbed his neck. "Holmes, we're lost aren't we?"

Everyone grew quiet. I felt my composure return a bit, waiting anxiously to hear the answer to this question. If it was more than two letters, I assumed I would scream. I watched his eyes dart from each one of us to the other, until finally they landed on me. "Yes," he breathed with a sigh of exasperation.

"Oh!" Dr. Thompson cried, grabbing the sides of his head and pathetically sitting himself on the forest floor. "I could have stayed in that prostitute house! I honestly felt much more protected there than I do here!" Irene cringed in disgust.

I felt tears begin to swell in my eyes. Furiously, I snatched the collar on Holmes's coat. He looked towards me in surprise, not expecting the forward gesture. "What do you mean... _we're lost_?"

"I mean it as simply as I put it."

I pulled him even closer to my face. "What do you mean by _that_?"

He grabbed my arms, steadying me out once again. "You really ought to get a hold of yourself, Miss Adkins."

I felt tears begin to fall down my face. I couldn't tell you why I was crying. Perhaps because I felt filthy. Perhaps because I was so tired from walking. Perhaps because I wanted to be somewhere with Edward and not there. Or, perhaps it was because I wanted to be somewhere with Sherlock and not there. "Please!" I murmured. "Get me out of here!"

"Yes, yes, very well!" Holmes nodded. "Tomorrow. For now, I think we should rest here."

"Here?" Watson cried, possibly even louder than Irene. "That will not be happening. No, that will not be happening. No one in their right mind would stay in this forest! It's horribly dirty and horribly unsafe!"

"There are five of us," Holmes muttered, raising his brows. "We can all protect one another."

"And what about animals?" Watson threw his hands in the air.

Holmes blinked in amusement. "Do rabbits frighten you, Watson?"

Angrily, he tossed his bowler hat onto the ground. "They do at night when I am unprotected!" He laid down with a growl and used his hat as a pillow. "If this is how it's going to be, I want to sleep. Someone else can patrol the area, but I've had it! I could be married right now and on a vacation in Venice! Oh, but no..." He angrily turned his back to us. "I'm stuck here... In a filthy forest with the most insane people I've ever met!"

Irene and Dr. Thompson angrily followed in suite, tossing down their coats and lying down with their backs away from us. Thankfully, neither of them had a long speech like Watson and in their anger they ignored us.

"You infuriate me." I pressed myself away from Holmes. "If I have to sleep another night in these woods... I'll... I'll kill you! Yes~ That is what I shall do; I shall kill you!" He said nothing in response. After I began to feel bad about what I said, I noticed he was still standing there with his eyes more tired than before. "I'm sorry," I muttered. "It's not entirely your fault."

"That is where you are incorrect, Miss Adkins. Clearly, everyone here has displayed their anger towards me. I would find it irrational and supposedly unfair if I was not the one to be blamed." He said all of this while staring at the ground.

"No, really," I slowly placed a hand on his shoulder. "I forgive you."

He said nothing, but simply laid his coat out on the floor. "There," he said. "Sleep. You look awfully tired and you have no coat." He stretched himself out on the dirty ground with his back towards me.

I silently sat down on the coat, poking his back until he turned around to face me. "Don't be stupid." I moved over and patted the spot next to me on the coat. "There's enough space for two."

He blinked and did not move.

I patted it once again. "I said I forgave you."

Ever so carefully, as if he were handing the last china doll on Earth, he crawled over next to me and filled up the extra space on the coat. My stomach was swirling with nerves at having him next to me again, but I pushed them aside. I had already decided to be with Edward. I had already decided that Holmes would be with Irene. I was simply sharing his coat. That was all. I turned around so that my back was towards him and tightly shut my eyes. _Sweet dreams, hurry up and find me, _I wished.

I felt something soft run it's way along my neck, my body tensing up a bit by the cool touch. I didn't turn around to have to know what it was. I felt his fingers sweep the hair away until he was simply stroking my bare skin. Along with the cold of the night air, I began to shiver at his touch. I felt him burry his face a bit into my neck, his breath tickling my throat. "What did the letter say?" He whispered so softly that I could barely hear him.

I reached my hand up to his face, my fingers brushing his cheek lighter than I had ever touched anything. "It doesn't matter right now," I whispered with my eyes still closed.

"You forgive me," he muttered, his voice beginning to fade into sleep.

"I'll forgive you..." My fingers slowly traced his lips. "If you tell me how you feel about me."

There was nothing for a long while. I thought perhaps he had fallen asleep as my fingers still continued to trace the features on his face. "I cannot tell you how I feel about you," he whispered suddenly, taking me a bit by surprise.

My heart broke a little at hearing this. I was right about him and Irene. They were good for one another. Perhaps this would be the last time I touched him. If it was, I didn't mind. Lying closely under the trees didn't seem like a bad way to go. I felt his arm slink it's way across my waist, his fingers spreading themselves out over my stomach. I felt my face grow hot. He noticed, because he muttered something in the darkness. "I won't hurt you."

I could feel my head getting lighter at the sound of my name, but I nearly lost my control when I felt his hand slink it's way furthur up my torso. I wanted to turn around to smack him, but I had to regain my control. I had wanted this once... And as I felt his soft touch against my body, I couldn't help to think that it was still what I wanted. I just couldn't have it.

"Holmes.." I mumbled, stroking his face a bit harder now, about to loose all of my control. "You should probably stop touching me."

I prayed Irene had fallen asleep or could not hear any of this.

He said nothing. He just pressed his face furthur into my palm. It showed me that everything I felt for him wasn't just so we could be intimate, but it was real. I just hoped I could feel that way with Edward when I returned to London. After all, I would have to be leaving Holmes when that happened.

"Tell me how you feel about me," I urged. He simply stared. "Why can't you tell me?"

"Because, I cannot find the words."

"You can solve all the murders in the world, but you cannot tell a girl how you feel?"

"You are an entirely different case, Miss Adkins..."

"Tell me how."

He blinked a few times in the darkness, his large brown eyes never failing to impress me. He said nothing.

"That is why I must leave you," I choked, suddenly announcing my plan even though I was not quite set on declaring it.

He sat up a bit, his eyes scanning my body over with worry. It was as though he was searching for a sign of untruthfulness. He could find none. "What... what exactly do you mean? Do you mean at this instant? Leave this area?"

I shook my head, biting my bottom lip. Even though I had just announced it, I found myself not wanting to talk about it.

"Miss Adkins..." He stopped speaking. He laid himself back down to look at the tops of the trees. Though his eyes were not set on me, I could not seem to pull mine away from him. Carefully, I scooted a bit closer to him, enough for me to kiss his cheek gently. He closed his eyes with a disatisfied look on his face.

"When I see you in the ring," I whispered. "Sometimes I would imagine that you were fighting for me." I chuckled at the sound of this. "It's all rather silly, but I wouldn't lie to you and tell you that it was not true."

His eyes cracked open again, the night breezes brushing his hair away from his face. I smiled at the sight of him. He was truly beautiful. _Perfect for Ir-_

"I was fighting for you," he said suddenly. "I will always fight for you, Renadale."

That was all I could take. If I were to listen to him anymore, I would have changed my mind. "Good night, detective," I mumbled, turning my back to him again and tightly shutting my eyes. I did not sleep however. How could I? If I were to sleep all my dreams would be of him. For now, I couldn't have anyone on my mind.

_Goodnight, my someone. _

_~.~.~.~_

_**REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW ... please? :] **_


	12. That Smell

**:)**

**~mistro~**

~.~.~.~

After hours of searching the next morning, we had finally come across something of importance. A hatch door, to be exact. Small and wooden, just like anyone would expect a secret door to look like. However, it's appearance was shielded by leaves. We were lucky to even see it at all.

"Do you think this is actually something of importance?" Watson said, stomping on it a bit. "It seems awfully small for someone to fit into. Let alone an entire group of people." We all nodded in agreement, staring down at the little hiding spot.

I took a step closer to it. "Well, there's no sense in just standing around it. We just need to open it and go down to see what's there." A lump arose in my throat. Hearing my plans aloud was not as comforting as I thought it would have been. "Who would like to go first?" I hesitated, stepping back from the door a bit.

Holmes, without any doubt, strutted up to the door and flung the handle behind him. A cloud of dust went sending out way, trapping us all into a choking fit. "There's certainly a hint," Irene coughed, burying her face in her arm. "That door hasn't been used in ages."

"Unless there's another way to access it," Holmes mumbled as he lifted himself down the hatch.

I glanced over at Watson, who seemed just as unenthusiastic about going down there as I did. "I'm awfully tired of going into dark holes."

He nodded in agreement. "Don't even get me started." Swiftly, he tossed his hat on and followed his friend. I followed not too far behind; a sense of importance washing over me.

We all galavanted our way down, one after the other. After we were all trapped in the blackness of the Earth, we were rewarded with... "Nothing," Irene sighed, dabbing her forehead. "There's nothing here; it's just terribly warm."

"Now, how does that make sense?" Dr. Thompson questioned. "It's a very spacious area and we're underground. It should be cold if anything." The four of us gave him a look, urging him to keep talking, but he was just as confused as we were. No one had any answers.

"If I can remember correctly," I mumbled as I descended further into the darkness. "The first victims's house was in this direction." I pointed east. "If you walk that way, it gets hotter." I could have kept going, but I was too afraid. "Would anyone... like to lead?"

I felt Holmes brush me, sending a little jump into my heart. I bit my bottom lip, trying not to think about last night. Even though Holmes was being his calm self, I knew he was thinking about it too. He made his way forward at a brisk pace without waiting for the rest of us. It wasn't like the sewars; there were no turns. It wasn't like the electricity stations either; there wasn't light. It was just dark. And straight. And hot.

Overall, it was terribly uncomfortable.

"This is awful," Irene whispered to me. "It's beginning to smell too-" Her words stopped altogether as she looked into my eyes. "Miss Adkins?"

I looked over at her, pinching my nose. "What is it?"

"This smell is all too familiar..."

No part of me was willing to keep moving. I should have known. I should have recognized it, but I was just naive. "You're right Irene," I whispered. I shot my head up towards Holmes, Watson and Thompson who were all still walking forward. "Stop!" I shouted as I rushed in their path. "Stop walking!"

Watson narrowed his eyes. Clear distress had to be evident on my face. "What is it Renadale?"

My fists clenched at my sides. "This smell... I mean, we all know it by now, don't we?" They exchanged worried glances. "Do we really need to keep walking to see what we've already seen numerous times?" Dr. Thompson took a step forward. "Dr. Thompson?" I asked hesitantly.

"Yes, Rendale," he answered. "We need to go forward, even though we know what sight our eyes will see." He was talking about that haunting scene. The sight that I had grown all too used to in a short amount of time. A dead body. _That_ kind of sight.

I turned around slowly to see something in the distance. It was the first victim. I bit my bottom lip in hesitation. "No, please." My voice dropped to a whisper. "Please don't make me go. I'll just stay behind."

Irene set her warm hand on my shoulder. "I'll wait here with you. I've got a fan you can use." She quickly whipped out a fan from her bosom and began to waft the air towards me. I looked at her in surprise. "One must always be prepared for the worst, dear."

Holmes smirked. "I've never seemed to follow that rule."

She scoffed, shooting him a glare. "Excatly my point. Look how you turned out."

He couldn't help but grin again, bemused by Irene Adler. Regardless, he walked forward, his long trench coat swinging valiantly behind him as he approached the dead, and rotting carcus of the boy. As disturbing as it is to say, the insides were taken out, and he wasn't recognizable whatsoever. At least, that was what Holmes had told us after he returned from his inspection.

There was a long silence as we all watched Holmes walk closer towards the boy. "That's inncorect, Mister Holmes," Watson mumbled to himself. We all heard it and shot him a look of frustration. What did he mean by that? Why was he making things more difficult?

"Why are you making things more difficult, Doctor Watson?" Thompson ripped off his coat and began to dab his forehead. He expressed the thoughts of the rest of the group. "Let's just get out of here as quickly as possible, I'm burning-"

"No, he is very recognizable." Watson's brow rose. "I knew him."

"You _knew_ him?" I shouted, ripping away from Irene. I suddenly didn't care about the heat or the aroma. I marched over to him, grabbing him by the shoulders and looking him as firmly in the eye as I could. "Why on Earth did you not tell us earlier?"

He blinked, cocking his head to the side. "Irrelevant. Naming off the boy's relationship with me seemed... well, it didn't seem vital!" He tossed his hands in the air. "Besides, none of the other deaths were related to me at all, so I didn't see the point in it. You have to understand that a Doctor in London knows many people."

"Yes, but didn't you think that this might be aimed at someone you love... a friend?" I asked desperately. Being a detective made me grow more desperate. I needed answers, and I needed as much information as I could get my hands on. I wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

"Miss Adkins is right." Holmes stood up and looked at Watson and I. "Considering Doctor Thompson was in partnership with the women who were murdered, you knowing the other victim does seem quite an odd occurrence."

Watson glared towards him. "Holmes, you're clearly forgetting that Dr. Thompson is not a detective like us. Why would that make him a target for the murderers?"

"We're both doctors?" Dr. Thompson's confusion was apparent.

"No, it's not you." Holmes spoke softly now. There was a bitterness in his words, yet humour lingered behind it. Just looking at him made me feel weak. I had no idea what he was going to say, but sadness dancing across his eyes. He must have sensed my stare, because he caught my eyes before he spoke. "I'm the target."

I didn't care about formality anymore. I didn't care who saw me. I rushed towards him, both of my warm hands holding his face. "Holmes," I whispered, trying to calm the nerves in my voice. "What do you mean by that?"

"Simple, really," Holmes said softly as he cocked a brow. "When you lay things out, it's all very simple."

"On with it!" Irene said, impatiently.

"After the first victim was found, I saw on Watson's face the recognition. I had assumed something was placed between them, because of the hesitancy that Watson had from staring at the boy. In that respect, I went to Dr. Thompson to ask him about how to remove organs, and if he had seen any other doctors around his town dealing with them. The gang must have seen me discussing things with him, assuming we had a friendship with one another. Therefore, they targeted him, attacking the beautiful women who he had befriended in his life."

My hand began to slide off his face as I grew more entranced in his explination.

"In that respect, they had to transfer their ways to get from my home to the other side of town, via the sewage way. Considering I had a rather large group of detectives forming around me, they began to grow clumsy with their work. Their organ removal began to grow messy and un-precise. They did not intentionally mean for us to run into them underneath London. Oh, no, they might have acted as though it was planned, but the persperation from their faces was quite clear that they were not planning it _at all_."

Irene shook her head. "I just don't get what's running through his mind sometimes."

"I'm not certain that I want to," I replied.

"At any rate, we should be on the lookout." He clasped his hands together loudly. "The next target will most likely be someone associated with Miss Adkins. Considering Miss Adler does not live in town most of the time, her targets are limited."

My heart dropped. I felt my eyes grow wide, like I was seeing all of the faces of those who I loved flash before me. There weren't many. If I were to lose anyone, it would tear me apart. My knees began to buckle, but I felt someone quickly wrap their arms around my waist and press me up against them. "No..." I whispered. "You have to stop them; I can't afford to lose anyone else I love." Images of my father flashed before my eyes.

"Holmes," Watson said eagerly. "How do you know they're after you? Your information was quite vauge, don't you think?" Holmes held me closer as he merely shot a warning look at Watson. "Alright, not vauge, but how could you possibly be certain?"

"I failed to save Emily for Jacob," he said. "He will hurt all that I care about as well, as little as our relationships might be." He looked behind him at the victim, and then back to Watson. "We must move before they strike again."

"Wait!" I shouted as the worst possible thought rushed into my head. Tears began to line the edges of my eyes. "My mother! Please, she's not well! Her nerves..." My hands were shaking just imaging myself being alone. Totally alone. Forever alone. "She won't be able to fight the men off, even for a minute-"

"They're not going for your mother, Renadale," Holmes said with a certain nod. "It was not your mother they saw that day."

Nervously, I looked up to him. His gaze refused to look at me. "What day?"

He tried to find the proper words, but his struggle lasted a near eternity for me. Finally, he uttered the words I dreaded to hear. "Edward Brettingham."

~.~.~.~

We had finally made it out of the woods, partially because I was running frantically. Leaving the woods was much more simple than finding your way through it; God had a way of lighting my path when I knew what I wanted. I rushed to the door of the inn as fast as possible. The front desk woman tried to tell me something, but I blocked her from my mind and instantly ran up to my room. Furiously and quickly, I threw all of my belongs in my bag, getting ready to leave. Just as I was finishing up, Irene ran into my room, panting like crazy. She collapsed on my bed, but I wasn't wasting a second. "Rendale!" She shut her eyes. "Please, slow down!"

"I've got to get into town." I mumbled. I felt like things were only going faster. It was as if every second I stayed in that room was closer to Edward dying.

The door flung open with Rupert and Waston at the threshold. Watson's eyes grew wide as he noted the speed at which I was moving. I grabbed my case and walked towards the door. Both of the men unpleasantly guarded my door. "Move," I said absent mindedly. I tried to steer around them, but they didn't budge.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Rendale..." Thompson warned. Aggrivated, I tried once again to steer around them, but they wouldn't move.

"Let me by!" I huffed out as my brows knitted in frustration.

Holmes suddenly appeared behind them. He motioned them to get out of the way and they quickly followed orders. "A cab is already outside. I'll take you there." He looked up at the three of them. "She's right; we need to get into town as soon as possible."

He grabbed my bag and pushed me towards the stairs. That was when I knew things were urgent. Everything was spinning out of control and I had to run to catch up and stop it. My legs, feeling like noodles from all of that running, climbed into the cab. Holmes crawled in right after me, slamming the door shut and sitting down across the way. He handed me my case, which I squeezed for comfort. My hopes were falling with every minute. He looked at me for a brief second and then redirected his gaze out the window. "Please," I choked. "Please just... tell me everything will be fine."

He looked at me without turning his head. His eyes were still uncertain. I felt a cry coming up my throat, but I clamped a hand over my mouth to stop it. I felt the hot tears pour from my face like an overfilled kettle. It wasn't supposed to be like this. After the case, I was supposed to go find Edward and marry him... love him...

Nothing ever turned out the way I planned.

~.~.~.~.~.~

We stopped in front of Edward's house as the moon hugged the sky above it. My stomach and face were sweating like a typhoid patient. My stomach was empty, but it felt full and ready to spill over. I could occasionally feel my eyes about to roll into the back of my head, but Holmes would gently pat me on the thigh to keep me focused. I thought I'd be okay by the time we reached his house. I wasn't.

I felt more dead than the victims.

"Renadale," Holmes said sternly. I'm not sure how many times he'd been saying it; I had been tuning him out for quite some time. "You're... You're not..." He grumbled and sent a firm slap to my cheek. "Renadale, you're not breathing."

His words made me aware of my growing pain. My eyes darted around the carriage. "I've got to get out of here," I murmured. "I don't want to go in there, though." My eyes pleadingly met his. His dark hair blended in with the seat and his pale face made him seem ghostly as he peered at me. "Go in there. Tell me what you see."

"Renadale..." His voice was uncertain.

"Please!" I fell over as more tears came from my face. I felt my head hit his legs, but I didn't move myself. His hand gently found my hair for a brief and awkward moment. Eventually, he lifted my face.

"Don't leave this carriage," he said sternly. "I mean it." And with that he left. Leaving me an empty seat and my tears.

~.~.~.~

Holmes POV

I hadn't been waiting this whole time to tell them on purpose. No. I owed it to Miss Adkins to go and find this boy... in whatever condition he may be. That was one I could honestly say I wasn't sure of. When we were walking in the direction of the whore house, when that Edward fellow had stopped us short to gleam upon Renadale, I had noticed peculiarly that a couple of gentlmen had stopped what they were doing to focus on the couple. Not just Renadale, as I had originally thought. Rather, both of them. As one.

All of this was finding it's way into my mind as I desended the large staircase leading up to the Brettingham door. No one was to be seen. No mother, no maids. Certainly no Edward. I felt my pace slow down. I didn't want to find him any more than she did. Telling Renadale that he was gone could possibly destroy her. Unfortunately, I had volunteered myself to be the one to begin her demise.

I'm was not good at confessing things. I had merely, simply, and easily lost that curious and peculiar young woman to a man who I deemed much more worthy of her than I. I suppose, in my jealous (which I was finding increasingly more difficult to hide from her than most) nature I had somewhat pulled her away from him.

I was not a religious man, but I might have been praying at that moment when I entered the unlocked door.

No one was to be seen. The candles were burnt as low as they could be. I could feel myself breathing far more heavily than I normally would have on any other occassion. My feet were seeming to control my body. I couldn't feel or sense where I was going or what I was doing. It was just happening. My body directed me towards the stairs. An odor.

_That_ odor. I knew in a second that I couldn't take another step furthur. I had to go be with Miss Adkins... Renadale, yes, her name is Renadale. _She asks me to call her that every time and I never listen to her. I will listen to her. I will be there for her._ Swiftly, my feet turned and I rushed out of the house as quicky as I could. I made my way back to the cab, only to see her on the chair, sobbing.

~.~.~.~

Renadale POV

I saw him come running out. My heart was no longer in my chest. It had left with Edward. The loss of him suddenly came down upon me stronger than I had ever even felt towards him. I had expectations for us... Such high expectations, and that was my problem.

I heard the carriage door open and slam. I felt it move. I could hear gravel popping from underneath the wheels and the hooves. I felt strong arms scoop me up and pull me to the other side of the carriage. I felt my hands read someone's face. I could see a ma, whose eyes were just as sad and empty as mine looking back at me... with enormous... affection? Was it affection I saw?

I could feel strong hands pressing me to a soft body. I could hear nothing but the gravel popping. I felt my own two lips press themselves against the man's neck. I could sense that it wasn't Edward.

I couldn't feel the edge of the balcony that Edward and I had stood on once. I couldn't see that charming, white smile he would shoot me every time he saw me. I couldn't feel the love he carried for me so briefly anymore; the love that had been oozing out of him. I couldn't imagine his touch.

I couldn't. I couldn't.


	13. Tainted Egypt

Motivation is a lot to think about when someone you love is dead. Others urge you that, 'It was God's will.' or, 'Maybe it was just his time.' or the ever so classic... 'Now he is at peace.' What if he didn't want to be at peace? What if he had a lot of really great things ahead of him (me being included in that) that are now completely pointless in talking about?

Now that he's dead.

Edward Brettingham was buried in a small church outside of London. It was what he would have wanted. A place away from everything... Somewhere beautiful just like him. It was not a small funeral in the slightest. I had assumed it to be so, but it was quite the opposite. Even with his hesitant and somewhat shy nature, Edward had created a large social group around him. There must have been one hundred people there, perhaps even more. This surprised me for a split second. Of course he was well loved.

His mother couldn't speak. She refused. She made no speech and she wept not a drop. I, on the other hand, was asked to give a speech. And embarassingly enough, I had accepted. When we got there and I had listened to a few other people, I could feel myself shaking in my seat. If I didn't do Edward justice now, I would never be able to redeem myself. This was it; I had to stay strong.

My feet slowly took me up to the podium in front of everyone as I, the last speaker, was now allowed to talk. Every inch of me was being cuddled by Death. I could hear him laughing in my ear. "My darling, my pretty,_ pretty_ Renadale... Surely you must know that I couldn't wait to see you again. You, you, you... My pretty Renadale, whom I love to see cry. Keep crying for me, Renadale." I pushed Death as far away as I possibly could, biting my lip to keep my tears from coming. I glanced momentarily at Edward's mother, but then had to look away.

"This isn't easy," I whispered, looking down at my hands. I could already feel my stomach flip flopping and I hadn't even been up there for more than twenty seconds. "Of course it couldn't be... How could it..." I sniffed, trying harder than what any of them could understand. "I've lost a lot of important people in my life; a similarity that I think Edward and I both shared. Our fathers were both very important people in our lives. They were our mentors, our guardians, but above all... they were our friends."

It's surprising how much an audience will listen to you when they're on the same emotional level.

"And yet, I've always shown that loss. I've kept to myself. I've burdened myself with grief and I've stayed in the shadows for quite a few years. My father never wished for me to be like that, but," I managed to chuckle slightly. "How was I supposed to feel? I was lost and I needed someone. Then, I met Edward." My eyes caught Mrs. Brettingham. "Your son." She looked down at her hands, still unable to weep. "And suddenly everything was different." The spreading of momentarily happy words soothed me quite a bit. "I could smile at myself in the mirror. I could dance down the street and have no cares. Yet, I noticed that Edward had felt this way the whole time. He managed to live and lead a normal and exciting life without his mentor, and he had wanted to share it with me."

I looked slowly over to my left. A beautiful, untouched face poked out from a wooden coffin. His features astounded me. Now that he wasn't here anymore, his lips seemed more pink. His eye lids looked darker, but in a much more mysterious way. I thought perhaps he couldn't become more handsome, but I was wrong. I was so very wrong. And in the back of my mind I felt myself crumbling. All of my emotions were being sucked from me and given directly to this boy. He had known me for such a short time, but he had truly cared for me. He wanted to be with me and I knew it at that moment more than ever.

I wanted to be with him. I might have been debating with myself earlier, when he was breathing and talking, but now that I could no longer see him do this it tore me to peices. I felt my bottom lip begin to quiver. "He had wanted to have shared..." Death must have arose in my throat at that moment, because I could no longer feel myself speaking. Then he moved to my legs, which instantly took off from my spot and out the door. I ran outside, where the sun was shining all too brightly on that dreary day. I could feel the heat seeping through my black dress. The black, lace veil that was draped over my face permitted me to see very little but the outline of things, so it wasn't unimaginable that I didn't see the carriage coming from behind me.

"Look out!" I heard someone shout.

With a shriek, I jumped out of the way just in time as the driver turned around to send me a nasty glare. He instantly saw that I was in mourning and tossed me an apologetic nod. That wasn't going to make things better. Pathetically, I fell to the ground, curling my knees tightly up to my chest as I wept. I could feel the blood running through me, practically like waves, it was moving so fast.

A few moments after that, I quickly heard loud high heels clomping behind me. I knew instantly who it was and I jumped up to hold her. I thought my hug would have killed her it was so tight. "M-Mother..." I choked out, barely able to get even _that_ much.

She didn't seem to care that I was squeezing all of the air out of her. "Don't try and talk now, my darling." I'm sure it was awful for her to see me like I that. Let me tell you, it was a bad time for me emotionally _and _physically. I was a rod. "Stop your crying," she whispered as she stroked my hair. "You'll stain your face."

I managed a quick laugh, but then covered it back up with tears. "Mother, I can't go back in there." I gasped, filling my lungs with excessive amounts of air. It was amazing the things we take for granted every day. Things like air. Because who knew when death could just snatch you up? "Don't make me go back in there."

"I wouldn't let you even if you wanted to," she scolded, holding me back so she could see my face. "Now listen to me. Most people are just being nice to you, but I'm going to straight forward. You're a young woman and you need the truth to be told to you every now and then." I looked at her with a blank expression, genuinely having no idea where this was going. "He's dead, Renadale." Her harsh words made me freeze in surprise. "Don't look like you're shocked. He's not going to come out of that coffin and start running back to you."

My mother had lost her own husband, so this bitterness was certainly surprising. "Mother-" I began to say, but she cut me off instantly.

"One day you're going to wake up and smell the roses again and fall for someone else. I sure hope that day comes as soon as it possibly can, because that's what Edward would have wanted. My husband was a great man, and I loved him for many years. I never wanted anyone else. You are too young to let your life pass you by in regret." She lifted up my veil and placed her wrinkled, but soft hand against my cheek. "Go back to your Sherlock Holmes and track down the demons who did this to your loving friend. That's what he would want... and for heaven's sake," She rolled her eyes. "Smile for once."

I might have smiled then. I wasn't sure, because I smothered her with another hug almost instantly. Normally, this kind of advice is not given to people in mourning. Honestly, I don't anyone should ever give such advice. However, I was quite a depressing person. I needed a boost and what she was giving me was exactly what I needed.

~.~.~.~

Later that day, after the funeral was over, (I decided to stay. I did owe that much to Edward. Everyone deserves a goodbye; even that man you think doesn't have a spine.) I instantly made my way back into town. I had planned on dropping the case completely. I had told Holmes that after he had discovered the horrible truth. By that point I was curled up on his bed, barely speaking. I think I might have laid there for half of a day. Time made no difference to me then.

So, when I made my way back to his apartment the day of the funeral, it wasn't surprising that he greated me at the door with a change of clothes. I looked at him with frustration. "What's this all about?"

"You'll get awfully hot in that, won't you?" He paused for a moment to look me up and down.

"Is that something you'd like to share?"

"I just find it strange that mourning dresses suit you. You look lovely." I was trying my hardest to be upset with him, but I couldn't help but be touched by this sudden confession, which I found to be so rare with him. If he could find me pretty in a mourning dress, I would have to start dressing better.

"Don't try and be nice to be just because I'm upset," I mumbled as I went behind his changing screen. He said nothing as I switched into a change of clothes. I felt bad changing out of my black dress, as I had planned on wearing it for a couple of days, but Holmes had a valid point. I couldn't go running around London in a black dress. As I finished, I walked out to find Holmes completely ready with his hat, coat and cane all ready to go. "You're forgetting something," I mumbled, making my way over to his desk. I scooped up his pipe, popping it into his mouth. He smiled, clenching it between his teeth. We looked at one another for a moment before he peeled it out from his mouth.

"Renadale, I'm truly sorry."

I waved him off. "Please, don't worry about it. It's nothing I can't take care of myself." I tried to keep a stiff upper lip, but Holmes wasn't buying it any more than I was. "I'll be okay long enough for us to finish this case. Just, don't remind me and _don't_ appologize."

"I can do that." He said with a raise of his brows. "Shall we go?"

Once more, I nodded my head firmly. I was more than ready to take them down.

~.~.~.~.~.~

Rupert Thompson decided it was best to stop coming with us. He said he would be there for reference if we needed him and told us to come to his lab with any questions or concerns. Watson seemed a bit quieter as we walked; his mind was probably on his wedding. Irene, on the other hand...

"If you weren't such a proud man, Mister Holmes..." Her red lips curled into a smirk. "Perhaps we wouldn't be in this incident. After all, you're the target aren't you?" Holmes glanced over her with a mocking look on his face as well. "It's funny that the target seems unaffected at all."

Irene's words were true. Holmes didn't seem to be affected much by the murders. His friend's dispair was supposed to weaken him... I wonder what their final strike was. Surely they must have known that Holmes and I were close. Who else was there left to kill? Irene didn't have anyone. The only other target would sincerely have to be Holmes himself.

"The target is perhaps unaffected, but the target is now myself." Holmes kicked up some dried gravel. Holmes seemed even more stressed beneath the shining sun. "Since they have seemed to attack all of the people I surround myself with, there's only one target left."

We all glanced over at him. Holmes had gotten us out of seemingly impossible messes. He could certainly save himself... Right?

We stopped in front of an asylum that none of us but Sherlock seemed to recognize. "Holmes?" Watson said, breaking the silence. "Why exactly are we here?"

"Do you remember that female doctor who helped Emily? The one who was murdered shortly after her?" Watson and I nodded. "She used to work here. Emily's family must have come here to assign her a doctor. We need more background on her lover and by the way things have been going..." He snickered. "Well, I think they might have a thing or two to enlighten us with."

I didn't tell anyone this, but I was terrified of asylums. I always saw them as threatening places. Screaming all day and night. Eyes watching you wherever you went. As we went in, my fears were not reassured. We passed a few doorways with bars on them. I could hear shrieks and mumbling coming from each one of the cages. Self consciously, I leaned into Irene for support. "You're not scared are you?" She whispered to me. I shook my head quickly, trying to keep my eyes on the floor. "Really? Because I am."

The main office was large and the furniture was all red velvet. It looked luxurious, unlike the rest of the place. It seemed as though outside of the office, the walls dripped water and goo, and every inch of the place had metal bars. I should have felt more comfortable in the warm room, but I wasn't sure if I even felt any better.

A man, probably in his late sixties, stepped out of a door across from us. He looked up at us in surprise. Guests were not accustomed to the asylum, especially ones who were not insane. He stuttered for a second as he looked us over. "... Do you have an appointment?" He said as he adjusted his glasses.

"Not quite," Watson said, tipping his hat. "I'm Doctor John Watson. We're working on a case and we were wondering if you had a minute to speak with us."

The thin, old man narrowed his eyes as he scrunched his white eyebrows towards his nose. His frail body was hunched over, giving off a cold personality. "I don't have a minute to do anything around here."

"Surely," I laughed nervously. "I wouldn't expect you to. None of us would if we worked in such a place." The man's eyes seem to lighten a bit as he looked at me, but it didn't take long for the iciness to reappear. "After all, these men must certainly keep you busy."

"What can I help you with?" He asked quickly. Irene began to step forward, but the man raised his hand and sent her a daring look. "Let me talk to the reasonable one." I surpressed my laughter as I saw the astonished look on Irene's face.

I continued on. "As you might have heard, a series of murders happened a month ago that dealt with the mentally insane."

"Yes. One of my doctors was murdered as well as her patient." He began to flip through papers on his desk as though uninterested.

I inched forward, glad to see that I wasn't in a position to explain. "I was wondering if you were allowed to speak to us about Emily's relationships and what they were like when they signed her up for care."

He let out a quick laugh, shaking his head. "What makes you think I remember?"

My heart began to sink as well as my smile. "Please, I'm not asking much from you. If you can remember anything we would be eternally greatful." He slowly looked up towards me. "_Eternally_," I repeated with another smile.

"Well, I do remember something. Her parents did not sign her up. No, I don't remember her having any parents. I believed after they bought her that house, they passed away. That was what her teacher had told me. A friend of hers signed her up. He didn't exactly have the right to, but it was clear that he cared for her. He refused to put her in the mad house, but he did want someone to talk to her." His voice trailed off as he began to remember.

"Blonde hair with almost grey eyes?" I blurted out.

"Yes," the old man said, glaring. "No need to get excited."

I grinned, despite his comment. "You know just who we're in need of information from. Do you remember anything about him? What was he like?"

"Of course I remember things about him," the man said, scoffing. "His name is Jacob Irons. He was a patient of mine." All four of us froze. I turned around to look at them as my heart rate began to take off. "He was not well, but I think with time he was getting better. After the girl died..." He shook his head in disappointment. "He stopped coming. I'm not sure what happened. It's no business of mine anymore."

"I hate to ask many more questions and bother you, but we think Jacob might be a very dangerous person and we need to know as much information on him as you can tell us." My voice was pleading. The man did not enjoy my persistence.

"What do you mean he's dangerous? I tried my best with that boy!" He pounded the desk furiously. "I'm not going to tell you a word about my patient! That's private!"

Holmes gently pulled me back, making his way around the desk. He bent down to pull open a drawer on the side of the desk. The old man's eyes grew wide. "What... What are you doing? Those are my files!" He shouted, raising his hands above his head in frustration. "Get out of my office or I'll call the police!"

Holmes quietly flipped through them. The man had no effect on him at all. He pulled out a file with Jeremy's name on it and began to read. "Jeremy was a violent child, teenager and adult. Cures seemed almost impossible. He was only pleased when with Emily Goodman. Medication was helpful to an extent. Jeremy shoplifted often. He was included in gangs in his youth, though bright and intelligent... Aha," Holmes pulled out a specific peice of paper from the pile. "Jeremy had a strange fascination with the body. We can often find him in the library researching the human organs, or ancient Egyptain technics in order to remove the organs from the human being. He worked with a scientist with the name of Adkins."

"That's _private_," The man said through gritted teeth.

Holmes finally looked up at him with a blank expression. I could tell the old man was bothered by his stare, as he slowly began to sit back down in his seat. Watson watched in wonderment. "What on Earth was that?" He said aloud. "That was just frightening." He uncomfortably shrugged his coat furthur over his shoulders.

"Just keep reading, Holmes," I mumbled with a smile.

Watson leaned over to me, a disturbed look on his face. "What, that didn't bother you at all? His eyes were almost red. I'm sure of it." I laughed and patted Watson on the shoulder.

"You have quite the imagination, Doctor Watson."

He looked at me with a smile. "You need one with this job."

~.~.~.~.~

We made our way back over to Rupert Thompson. He was not quite pleased to see us so soon. We explained the case files we found of Jacob's and he began to explain the Egyptain practices to us. It was all very careful and delicate, involving wires and scooping tools. "If rushed however, it can look very sloppy. Occasionally, when the Kings and Queens would die, their family would urge them to rush in order to have their organs more healthy when removed," he rolled his eyes at the stupidity of it all. "So, in order to get them out quickly, the doctors were pushed beyond their limits. The organs were preserved, but it left the bodies in a tad bit of a mess. Jacob did show rushing with his victims, but I'm sure it was merely to get away from detectives."

We all understand. "If Jacob is fascinated with Ancient Egypt, perhaps he spent a lot of his time at the London Museum. They have a large collection of Egyptian artifacts there," Doctor Thompson furthur explained. His eyes caught mine for a moment. I noticed more gentleness in them than the first time I had seen him. "Your father..." Dr. Thompson said as he gathered my attention. "He was very fond of the human body, was he not?"

I nodded slowly, curious as to where this was going.

"Perhaps Jacob got a wide interest in the methods from you father. I know that he was also fond of Egypt's bodily care taking."

The fondness I was beginning to get for Thompson slowly began to dissipate. "How did you know that?"

"Your father and I were both scientists. We talked," He smiled towards me. "Word gets around. Your father often said Jacob was strange and not very well. At any rate, I would check the museum."

I nodded, though I couldn't help but feel displeased with his words. Perhaps some people never grow on you.

~.~.~.~

**Hey! Okay, I know that was kind of short, but I'm in Austria for school and I don't have much time to write, but I want to update more! D: So... I hope it wasn't terribly boring! Next chapter will be... fun. ^_^**

**REVIEW! And keep reading, please! I hope you all are still with me, even after that sickening long break. :[ I really do want you opinions on stuff, so please just complain complain and complain if that's what you feel is needed.**

**Infinite X's and O's,**

**~mistro~**


	14. Back Turned

**Special Thanks & Dedication to beautiful Tbonechick2011 for giving me the encouragement to update this story when I was so afraid to. XD This one goes out to you. I hope you like it!**

**Thank you to all of your who stuck through this ridiculously busy time, and hugeeee writer's block. I hope you're all still there, reading and reviewing. If not, that's cool- I totally understand, haha! But if you are... let me know that you're there.**

**Sherlock, you too have the right to hate me. I hate myself. XD I'm never this bad about updating. Except for now. Let's just... hope it doesn't happen again.**

~.~.~.~.~.~

The four of us left Dr. Thompson's office in a bit of a hum-drum mood. Lingering in the back of my mind was still the thought of Jacob. And now that it had been brought up enough, my father's memory travelled back to me. I was sent back to a world of sweetness and pureness. Only, to my horrification, I realized that it was all gone from my life. "Did you attend your friend's funeral today?" I heard Irene softly ask me. I craned my neck up to look at her beautiful face; surpried to see that she actually seemed tainted. "I'm truly very sorry to hear it."

"Thank you," I muttered. The bottom of my eyes were beginning to tear up, but I tried my hardest to stop myself. Coughing loudly, I distracted the others long enough to wipe my eyes. One person continued watching me. "Really, I'm fine," I whispered to Holmes.

We stayed silent like that for a while. The four of us were just standing there, not knowing what could possibly be happening on the different corners of London. Most things would probably upset us, but yet we stood, doing nothing about it. Until Holmes spoke up. "All of you wait here. I'm going to go to the museum." He quickly buttoned up his coat with determination.

"Holmes, what are you thinking?" Watson scoffed and stepped closer to his friend. Holmes only looked bemused by Watson's sudden threat. "You can't seriously consider going there. It's closed at this time of the day and it's dangerous. How do you even expect to get in, hm?"

"Watson..." He said as he adjusted his cuff links. It never ceased to amaze me at how calm Sherlock Holmes was in the midst of tension. "It truly amazes me that the size of your brain could hold so much except for perhaps some decent and thought-provoking questions." Holmes shot him another warning look. "Was there anything else tumbling up there that you wished to run by me?"

Watson's face was turning more pink by the second. Irene delicately laughed at the scene, but I knew how Watson felt. I didn't want Holmes to go either. If Jacob really did happen to be there, then what were the odds of Holmes coming back to us? What were the odds that he would see us again? "No, Holmes. I agree with Watson." Holmes's large brown eyes suddenly met mine. I felt in that instant that I knew what they were saying.

_Just let me go, Renadale._

I knew he meant go to the museum, but for some reason, I felt like he meant forever. "I can't let you go." I choked out, taking another step forward. Tears began to line the edge of my eyes again, but I didn't brush them away. Irene and Watson looked towards me with shock. It was obvious they were not expecting that reaction. "Don't ask me to do that." I mumbled as I dropped my head. "I don't think you should go."

Another long pause. Lightly, Holmes tapped my dress with his cane. "Then come with me, Miss Adkins."

Watson gasped again. "Are you even more mad than before? What if Jacob and his gang just so happen to be there? You're going to put Renadale's life in danger, when all they want is you? Not to mention, taking you would also be an issue." Watson's face was so flushed now, I could have mistaken him for a berry. "Without you, London would be chaotic. We can't... we can't afford to just _lose_ Sherlock Holmes!"

"Your flattery astounds me." Sherlock tipped his hat elegantly. "Yet, you can do better than that, my dear Watson. I know that I'm worth quite a bit more than that." He offered me a small smile. "Wouldn't you agree, Miss Adkins?"

My eyes were still glued to the cobblestone street. I couldn't put my finger on just one of my thoughts. There were far too many floating around my head. "I will go with you," I said monotonously. "If we're put in danger, perhaps back up might not be all that bad to have."

"Why not me?" Watson said, raising his brow. "Renadale, I'm not going to let you put your life at risk." He inspected my gloomy face a bit furthur. "Forgive my sympathy. You probably don't wish to take it, but it'd be best for you not to go, especially on a day like today. Risking one of you is enough. I'll take your place."

I didn't want him to take my place. If Sherlock Holmes needed someone, I wanted that someone to be me. I wanted to stand by his side one last time if I could. "No, John." Sherlock's voice distracted me from my thoughts. "You're engaged. You will have a family and I will not be the one to put that to ruin."

It was as if Watson had completely forgotten all of that. He gave his friend a bewildered look, but it was clear that Sherlock was right. It was difficult for all of us to see Sherlock so sensitive towards the wedding. "Holmes, I..." Watson started, but stopped. He gently nodded his head. "Thank you."

"What about me?" Irene interjected. "You expect me to just stay behind and wait? When on Earth have I ever seriously done that?"

"Of course, I don't expect that from you, Miss Adler." Holmes sent her a mischevous smile. "I wouldn't expect anything different than for you to tag behind us, just to make sure that everything was going roughly without you, so you could save the day yet again." She beamed proudly. She did often save the day. "It's certainly something to be proud of. I shouldn't doubt it," Holmes mumbled, buttoning up his coat even furthur.

"Are we leaving now?" I asked as reality began to spread her wings before me.

Watson's face looked heavy. I knew he wanted to help, but his soon-to-be wife and future were calling his name. I didn't blame him.

"I suppose we must be off." Irene shrugged.

"I never suppose," Holmes said with a quick raise of his brow. "It's a bad habit; one that destructs the logical thinking process. So, simply stated, we're off."

~.~.~.~.~.~

As we walked along, I wondered how many times I had strolled down the streets of London. Had I been down them all? I would be surprised to see that I had. Yet, when I looked at each street, a different memory would strike me. Though everything seemed to blend together I could see the different puzzle pieces. London made sense in her own, strange way. A sailor sits on the sea often, waiting for something to happen. If he doesn't, he makes his own path. He chooses his own destiny. Was that what I was doing? With Sherlock Holmes, could it be possible for me to open my own destiny? Or was it buried with my father and friend?

"You're thinking awfully hard," I heard Sherlock say though a light rain. I was surprised to hear him comment on myself. "I've heard it said that many people, often of your type, write down their thoughts." He shot me a hesitant glance. "I'm aware of journals, but I was informed that they write them down for memorization."

"Are you taking about studying methods? Taking notes?"

"That would be the most logical way of putting it."

I sighed heavily, closing my eyes in disbelief. "Your logic truly often surprises me, Mister Holmes." I almost caught him cringing, but he stopped himself and stood up straight again. "I'm not trying to mock you, but there is a very large world out there. One with people who are actually not as intellegent as you and ones who, in order to help them memorize things, must write it down and_ remind_ themselves."

"Well, I was thinking that perhaps it would be affective to my cases."

I let out a curt chuckle. "Most detectives take their own notes." I shot him a glance. "Most of them don't just circle things in newspapers like you do."

He avoided my gaze. I knew my voice sounded a bit more harsh than normal, but this was perhaps the improper moment to be upsetting me. I had been through a lot lately, and leaving me to my thoughts and silence wasn't that bad of an idea. I could tell by his hesitant expression that he did not with to aggrivate me. "You're right," he stated simply. "I was just thinking about how my methods perhaps might seem a bit... outlandish."

My mind suddenly took me on a journey to the past as my body continued to move forward. I was suddenly struck with images and scenes of Sherlock and I; all of them sending me in a whirl.

Becoming his new maid. Getting his papers. Seeing him smile for the first time. Playing with his bugs. Laughing with him. Feeling his breath on my skin. Standing with him in the rain. Holding him, touching him, understanding him... knowing him.

Emily dying. My mothers tears. My own tears. Holmes's coldness. Bitterness. Holmes's confinement and lack of pride. His swollen face, his beaten body. My life being put in danger.

Was it all worth it?

"Renadale, we're here." The sound of my name made me hold my breath.

"What did you just call me?" I asked softly.

He continued to look away from me. "I'm sorry, Miss-"

"Renadale. Not Miss Adkins."

Holmes's direction shot down towards me in a second. We stayed like that for a while. My memories were still in my head, but the only ones I could focus on were the goods ones. Even when I tried to think of Edward, my thoughts shifted back to someone else. The someone who was right in front of me. Yet, I didn't want it to be that way. He was still Irene's, wasn't he? Pathetically, I turned my head. "I hope, for our own sakes, that Jacob isn't here."

"I hope, for our own sakes, that he is." I could tell that for a split second, Sherlock was scared. He was afraid of losing. He was afraid of hurting someone else. "I know you're character. Don't in the least think that you doing something reckless would make me reassured or in more of a comfortable position, because it wouldn't. You wouldn't be saving me in the least. In fact, you'd be making things much worse for me, so if something were to arise... Please, just follow my directions simply and do as I say."

Somehow I managed to catch what Holmes was trying to say. He cared about me.

"I... will do as you say," I said breathlessly. I could feel trickles of rain slipping down my eyelashes, making them seem like tears. Wasn't the sun just shining moments ago? Was it a warning to the detective and I that things would not go as they seemed?

"Look at the sudden rainfall as washing away what you once knew to be true," Holmes spoke with a flowing voice. Secretly, I stared at his face. His carved features and his dark look. He was truly handsome. He was someone anyone could admire; even Jacob and his men. "Don't look at it as bad luck, but rather a kiss of fortune from the heavens that we will be alright." Then, he looked over to me. "Don't let your own tears get mixed into the fall of the rain either, Miss Adkins."

Even though he had just said not to, his hopeful words made my chest feel much lighter. The relief, the sweetness in his voice, made the tears begin to fall. "Renadale," I whispered to him. "Please say my name. Call to me like you know me, like you..." I was scared to say the next part. If I didn't say it now, would I regret it? "Like you care about me."

"I do care," he said slowly. "I care about you, Renadale."

~.~.~.~.~

Tracking water inside, we entered the large museum quite easily. Holmes had been through enough to pick up on the locking system. "The locking system included a lot of lead. You can tell by the color of the wood around the door. It's slightly stained." Holmes explained as we walked through the eerily dark museum. "Lead is easy enough to get open, as it's rather dry compared to other metals." He scoped out the area quietly with his hands dug casually into his pockets. The fear was not evident on his face. It was all on mine.

"Holmes, I don't care about the lead. No one is here and I feel uneasy. I think we should leave..." He ignored my comment and continued to make his way down dark corridors.

You may never think about it, but a museum is absolutely the scariest place to be at in the dark. Statues and faces are surrounding you; the eyes seem to move through the day _and_ the night.

"It should be around this corner..." Holmes whispered, keeping close to me. I knew that if we lost each other, things would become chaotic. We decided to stick closely by the other's side. "Yes; I see the mummies." I cringed at the word. Not exactly my idea of a fun night.

"Right there are the containers." He shot me a quick look. I could make out the white in his eyes. They were wide, bigger than I had remembered them being. Something was wrong.

"Renadale... stay completely still."

~.~.~.~.~

**CLIFFIEEE. MUAHAHA!**

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	15. A Streak of White Light

**YAY! You guys are still there! I'm glad to see that you are. :) Thanks for the nicest reviews! You're all so sweet- It really means a lot to me when you guys are out there reading. I can't even explain, haha! Am I being too flowery? *flutters lashes* **

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**Infinite X's and O's,**

**Mistro**

**~.~.~.~.~.~**

My body froze exactly where it was. If Sherlock would have told me to move forward, backwards or sideways, I wouldn't have been able to. His last sentence chilled me to the very core of my being. _Renadale... stay completely still. _The tremble in his voice was foreign and I did not know whether he was jesting or if I were to heed his warning. "Holmes," I whispered sternly. "What's going on?"

"I mean it." His voice was harsh. "Stay where you are." Without another word, he brushed past me with a firm hit to my shoulder. I stumbled for a moment, rebalancing myself in the dark.

My whole body was shaking. The anticipation to turn around was coming in going like a hot flash. One second, I wanted to know the situation. During another, I was much more comfortable not knowing. "This isn't funny!" He didn't respond. I stared ahead at the sarcophagus as her painted, blue eyes met mine. Pathetically, I whispered to her in my head. There would no one else I could talk to. _Is there something behind me, Egyptian Queen? Are you looking at it too? _

Click.

The sound was all too familiar to me ears. Was_ that a gun? _I pleadingly asked to the silent face before me. _Is he alright?__  
_

_Why don't you turn around and find out for yourself? _Her glassy mouth seemed to whisper to me.

I tightly shut my eyes. If something was going wrong with Holmes, he wouldn't want me to get myself into his mess. Ah, but he should have known that I wasn't going to just let it happen. When did I ever actually listen to him? "Sherlock, I'm not waiting anymore!" I tried to sound tough as I began to turn around, but the fear was just too evident. "You've asked for it!"

Sherlock's back was towards me with his left arm raised perfectly in the air. No one had to walk around to see what he was holding. Across from him stood Jacob, his shockingly blonde hair illuminated in the darkness. Sherlock wasn't alone with his weapon. Oh, no. Jacob had one as well and aimed it straight for Sherlock's heart. There was something different about them, however.

Jacob was smiling at me. He thought it was fun. A game.

"Renadale," I heard Holmes's deep voice grumble out towards me. "When I tell you to do something, I don't expect it to be in your nature to listen, but perhaps altering your personality wouldn't be such a harmful thing." Jacob let out a bemused laugh at this, his voice echoing all around us.

"This is all very amusing!" Jacob said behind his crooked, smiling teeth. "It's too bad that I'm not really here for _entertainment_. The only way I'd get that would be by shooting you." His gun tilted up towards Sherlock's face. Images of that boy I once saw as sweet trickled from my mind all together. "Right here. Right now."

My body reached out to Sherlock and I stupidly stepped in his way. I could feel his heated eyes on the back of my head. They were probably rolling at my attempt to seem heroic. "Sorry," I whispered breathlessly as I slinked back to the side. "It was instinctive."

Jacob was on the same page with Sherlock. His grey eyes rolled to the back of his head, and for a second, he looked like the demon that his soul possessed. "Renadale..." Jacob's low voice sounded like a song as he whispered my name. "Don't feel _all_ that bad. It wasn't like I was about to do anything anyway." He slowly brought down his gun. "Actually, I'm glad you decided to come! I didn't expect to see you here, but it doesn't surprise me that Sherlock couldn't come alone."

Though Jacob's threat was gone, Sherlock wasn't about to lose his shield. His gun remained at the ready. "Sherlock, maybe you should put your gun down." I wasn't sure why I encouraged it. Jacob was a killer, but he didn't seem harmful. Not at that moment, anyway. Sherlock's eyes flickered towards me for a second with consideration. It took him much longer to actually lower his arm.

"Wonderful!" Jacob smirked, clasping his dirty hands together in delight. "Now we can talk like buisness partners, can't we?" There was a long beat of silence. Obviously, Holmes had no plans of making a deal. Getting into something with a murderer might not be easy to get out.

"Correct me if I'm wrong about this, but aren't you usually surrounded?" I mumbled bitterly. "Or am I just not looking closely enough?" The museum had plenty of hidden crannies for someone to hide in. It wouldn't have shocked me if we were being watched that very second.

Jacob's eyes and smile could not seem to leave my direction. "Beautiful _and _smart. You're a keen observationalist, but not quite as cheeky as your friend here." He flapped his hand towards Holmes with little interest. "Luckily for you, the rest of them aren't here right now." His gun twisted around his finger lazily before he tucked it back into his pocket. "You're also lucky that I'm a bit more... _lenient_ than the rest of them."

The longer I looked at him, the less intimidated I became. He had put his weapon away, hadn't he? He was smiling, even.

He was smiling... but why?

"I'm happy that you're here," his grey eyes shot over to Holmes. "Are you willing to listen to what I have to say? Or are you going to keep that gun untucked?" I had nearly forgotten about my boss. He had been so quiet, and he put his gun away with equal obedience. "That's a good lad," Jacob chuckled. "Thank you for that. Now we can talk in peace."

"I wasn't quite sure if that word could be located in your vocabulary." Sherlock's voice was equally as calm. "However, seeing that we're both in an undeniable situation, we might as well take what we can from both sides." Jacob seemed thrilled; he was rocking back and forth on his heels in anticipation. "What do you have to say to my proposition?"

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable sitting down?" Jacob gestured towards the Queen's sarcophagus. "Don't worry. She's only bites when she's _really_ hungry."

My eyes lingered on the black hair of the unmoving Queen. She was paint; unreal and unfeeling. Yet, something about Jacob's words made her seem more threatening. I didn't want to get near her. Her voice was no longer a comfort to me.

Jacob's face became more serious. He even took a step closer towads me, his long grey trench coat swinging behind him. His tall figure looming towards me should have scared me. Yet, I didn't feel anything. There was nothing in my soul that quivered as I glanced into his eyes. This man murdered my friend. He murdered the one who loved me, but... why wasn't I afraid? "You're interested in Egypt too. Aren't you, Renadale?"

If he wanted to play games, I would play them. "Well, I'm not all too familiar with it, but my father studied it." A puff of air escaped my nose in memory. "Oh, but we both already know that."

"Renadale," Holmes said warningly. His eyes whispered to me as well; _You talk too much._

"Yes!" Jacob cried enthusiastically, stepping as close to my face as he possibly could. "Yes, we _do_ know that! He taught me almost everything I know about it. Your father was a wonderful teacher... Unfortunately, I didn't have the opportunity of working with him for as long as I would have liked to..." His voice began to trail off as his eyes shot towards the floor.

I could smell the soot and dirt of the Earth floating off from him. He hadn't scared me before, but now that he was so close, I felt threatened. He talked about my father as though they were companions. I didn't want to believe that my father associated himself with such people. For the sake of my weak heart, I couldn't. His sweet face, his light eyes, and his white hair... My father. And somewhere in the back of my mind another image appeared. One of another gentle face... with Grecian features and hopeful eyes. "Edward," I choked out. Jacob and Holmes seemed surprised by the sudden announcement.

What was I doing? What was I waiting for? He had killed him. He had taken his last breath not just from him, but from everyone who loved him. That was a price that could not be repaid. There was no number on Edward's life. It was an eye for an eye. Suddenly, there was no other option.

Heat flooded through my blood and oozed from my pores. "You killed him," I spat. Jacob looked confused. He even looked to Holmes for an explination. Furiously, I reached for his coat collar, but strong arms quickly held me back. "You _murderer!_" I shrieked. Sherlock held me as close to him as he could, but I couldn't resist another attempted breakthrough.

"What the _hell_ is she talking about?" Jacob shouted over my thrashing. He clamped his hands over his ears as I continued to shout. "Get her to shut up!"

A firm hand clamped itself over my mouth. I tried to yank it off, but Sherlock wasn't as forgiving. "You're not coming with me next time," he snapped. "Calm down."

Jacob tossed his arms furiously above his head. "Can somebody please tell me what she's going on about? What is she talking about me murdering him?" His chunky shoes paced the floor, letting out clanging echoes. "Murder _who_? As far as I know, I haven't even killed a _he_!"

Holmes tossed me behind in him a blur. He wasn't going to listen to my orders anymore. His gun was pulled out without warning and straight at Jacob's chest. "It's not very polite of you to talk that way to a lady." Sherlock snapped in his restlessness. As I watched him, I confess that I did not recognize him. "_I_ knew it wasn't you. She didn't. Don't concern her with things that only matter to me."

My ears perked up. "What do you mean it wasn't him?" I couldn't help but let the words come tumbling from my mouth. "And how does this not concern me?"

"Renadale!" Shelock's eyes flashed a shade of red as he turned around to face me. I could tell he was reaching his limits and that I was trying his patience. There was no compassion in those eyes, only ruby-red frustration. "I beg of you... be silent."

"I _honestly _have no idea what she's talking about," Jacob mumbled through clenched teeth. "If she has a problem with me, I'll take it up with you, because that's the whole plan. Isn't it?" Adjusting his vest like a casual citizen, Jacob made his way hastily over to the sarcophagus. His thin body leaned against the glad with a heavy sigh. We both watched his mood swings with curiosity in our eyes.

"Edward Brettingham." Sherlock's voice was quiet, but his unfired bullet did most of the interrogation. "You didn't kill him, did you? You didn't murder an Edward Brettingham."

Jacob's eyes shot open like the first grey drops of snow. "Edward Brettingham? Am I supposed to know who that is?"

"Don't even lie," I began, but Sherlock cut me off with a raise of his hand.

"If you're suggesting that I killed this man, then Holmes is right. I didn't. I don't even know _who that is_." Each word was spat out in disgust. His tired body slumped towards a nearby bench. He looked tired. It was like the vitality was drained from him and there was no where else to turn but the end. Giving up. "I didn't want to talk so you could point fingers. I wanted to be... civilized."

"And we shall be," Holmes said calmly. "Tell us what you wish."

Jacob's eyes never left the floor as he spoke. It was as if he was getting the weight of the world off his chest; like he was telling his sins to a priest. I couldn't comprehend the dramatic change of character. I knew he was crazy, but did_ he_ know it? "Emily was my world. She was the only thing that kept me going. When we were younger, everyone ridiculed us. We could relate to the other. When I started feeling affection, I felt like I had to protect her. I had to watch her back at all times." Silence, like dust, lingered in the air. "When she started losing her mind, I didn't know how much longer I could be there. I had to send her somewhere. Anywhere. The thought of her going mad was driving _me_ mad. I got her a doctor, a wonderful one at that, someone I really thought could help her. It was only when things weren't getting much better that the doctors said that I should get help too. They told me I wasn't in my right mind; that I would constantly mumble things and was far too interested in my research. I didn't realize that I was sealing myself away from the whole world, including Emily. I was meant to take care of her, but I couldn't even face her any more..." His voice trailed off into a forgotten memory. I almost felt like I should go over and boost him back up, but I stood my ground. I couldn't trust anyone easily anymore. "After she died-"

"You don't have to talk about that," I said softly.

"_Yes,_ I _do._"The minimal light coming in from outside made his eyes twinkle. I stood, bewitched for a moment. Did I see truth in that gaze? Or was it all a lie? "She was my world. "She was the only other person that I had. When I worked with your father, I would savour the moments just knowing that I was near her. I couldn't watch her go mad. I had to leave the job that I loved; the only thing keeping me sane. After she left, where was I to go? I wanted revenge... on _everyone_ who had something to do with it." His menacing eyes locked on Holmes. "I wanted you to pay. I wanted you to not be able to catch me and lose. You; Sherlock Holmes. I wanted you to _fail_. I wanted you to _die_."

"Wanted?" Holmes seemed surprised by this. "You _wanted_ me to die?"

Past tense. Why was Jacob using previous time? I listed off possible reasons in my head. He could have been planning to hurt him at that very second. Hurting Sherlock Holmes was not going to be alright with me. As the twisted idea came into my mind, I began to feel sick. He was all I had left. I had lost my lover and my father. Sherlock Holmes wasn't going anywhere. Without a second thought, I let my voice be heard. "Jacob, you don't want to hurt him."

"What?"

"Be quiet!" I shouted at Sherlock. Jacob was my audience. "Everything that happened with Emily; her death, her situation, all of it was my fault." My gut twisted in my body. I felt my stomach growl as though all of the life was being drained out of me. "If I wouldn't have distracted Holmes, she could still be alive. If I wouldn't have gotten in the way of things, Emily might still be here." Jacob's chest was heaving in bewilderment. My words must have stunned him, because his mouth hung open in disbelief. "I didn't kill Emily. But I was a nuisance and I was in the way of her protection." Sherlock was quiet from behind me. I couldn't bring myself to turn around to face him. "This is why I should have left from the beginning. This is why I still have to leave." Neither of them moved. Neither of them said a single word. They might not have been breathing for all I knew. "Jacob... If you're going to hurt him, take me in his place." A tear began to appear at the bottom of my eye as my body slowly curled towards the floor. "He doesn't deserve any of it, but I do."

I felt a tear begin to roll down my face. I wasn't ready to leave this world. In truth, I didn't want to leave Holmes side, though I believe it to be for the better. Yet, when I looked back on our last case, and even on the one were in now, I caused so much trouble. I slowed us down. I distracted him. I even made my own friend die, all because I wouldn't leave Sherlock Holmes. As I sat on that cold museum floor, I felt something brush against my cheek.

"Miss Adkins," I heard a gentle whisper ring out in my ears. It was't the voice I was familiar with. I cracked open my eyes, about ready to scream when I saw Jacob crouching down to my level. His thumb brushed back a tear, but his own face mirrored it. "I'm not here to take either of you. I'm here to thank you for doing everything you can to try and her." He looked me feircely in the eye. "Maybe it was just her time. We all have clocks whose gears play tricks on us."

I couldn't find any words to say back. I looked deeply at his face, trying to find any sign of anger or revenge. But his features were calm and relaxed. It was completely different than before. He was stone-faced, stern, almost evil looking at his young and handsome age. I saw those cold eyes in my nightmares, but now they just looked like empty marbles, planted in the face of someone who had lost everything.

"What about the women you killed?" I heard Holmes ask from behind. "What was your reasoning behind that?"

"I wanted to get back at the doctor," Jacob said easily. He stood himself up and casually brushed the gathering dust from his trousers. "He had hurt me in the past. _That_ was my reasoning. As for this Edward Brettingham, I can't tell you how that happened. I wouldn't lie to you. I'd be proud of it, if it meant anything to you-"

"It did," I whimpered. "It meant a lot."

Jacob once again crouched down to my level. "Look at me." His voice was much stronger than before. "Look me in the eyes." I did as I was told. "I don't know who this boy was. I don't know him personally. He obviously meant something to you and I'm sorry that he's gone, but let this be a clue. Why do you think I'm alone right now? I left them. All they wanted to do was kill. I had a reason behind my murders. They just became sick and demented and we parted ways."

"You're _all_ sick and demented."

"That may be true." His gem-like eyes narrowed into slits. "But, this one wasn't my fault. I'm warning you to let that one pass. You'll get yourself in too deep."

I heard Holmes approaching us from behind. His strong grip locked itself onto my arm, hauling me up off the ground without any effort. I didn't expect to hold on to me after that, but he did, and closely. "You killed those other women. If you thought that perhaps this would be a situation to get out of, which I'm sure in your state of intelligence you didn't, then you must know that surely we wouldn't let you walk."

"No," Jacob laughed. "I'm not expecting such sweet compensation from _you_, Sherlock Holmes. But can I tell you one thing?" His index finger rose wisely in the air. "I think you might just thank me later for it." His focus redirected itself on me. "Renadale, I've always found you somewhat mesmerizing. Whenever I would see you come out of your room, you would pathetically charm me. I was bewitched by you." He was going through another stage in his emotions and I could have sworn he was crying. I wasn't often flattered, and being so by a killer didn't seem highly successful. But, I listened silently as he continued on. "I would never do anything to hurt you. But there are people are there who are willing to hurt anyone. And you'll find them at the tip of the red sun, just when you least expect it."

"What do you mean?" I said, breaking free from Holmes. "What are you-"

"Forget me."

In the blink of an eye, and the split second of a heart beat, I saw Jacob reach in his pocket. He quickly pulled something out, but I couldn't see it in the darkness. Only one side of his face was illuminated by a small streak of light coming in from the nearby window.

There was a click.

There was a shot.

I saw the illuminated part of his face disappear and fall to the ground. A scream was rising in my throat, but I clamped my hand over my mouth before I could let it fall. Sherlock's arms instinctively wrapped themselves around my waist. He held me tightly to him, but I still felt my body slipping closer towards the bleeding floor. "Renadale, just stand with me. Don't get closer to him."

Sherlock's voice meant little as it rang inside of my ears. I had just witnessed a man kill himself. I saw a man put a bullet through his brain. I couldn't just stand there and stay upright. My mind wasn't as forgiving either. It jumped from one conclusion to another.

What was Jacob taking about?

Where were the other murderers?

Why was I in this mess to begin with?

"Renadale, you're..." Sherlock's teeth were gritted as he struggled to keep me from slipping. Growing annoyed, I felt his strong arms slip themselves beneath my legs. He held me like a bride, but I didn't feel as lucky. "Let's go." His gentle hands pulled my head towards his shoulder. "You shouldn't have had to of seen this." My eyes flickered shut as the soft tone of his voice entered my head. We were descending a staircase, and I clung to him all the more tightly. "I'm so sorry, Renadale. I didn't want this for you." It didn't matter. He wasn't going to be making my decisions any longer. I too wanted out of it; forever. "You talking about leaving was all... nonsensical. Right?" Concern laced his tongue as the hesitant words dropped from his lips.

"No," I answered in the softest of voices. "It had sense."

I couldn't see his expression with my sealed eyes, but his shoes walked on. He could manage without me. It was me who I was worried about, but I made sure not to express that to him. "You consider that unimportant?" Sherlock stopped in his tracks to set me down. When he did so, his eyes pleadingly met mine.

"You can leave now, if you wish." That was all I could manage to say.

"I wouldn't just _leave_ you." There seemed to be anger in his voice. I was a foolish schoolgirl who wasn't getting the lesson plan. "You may be planning to do so to me, but I will not be making the same decision. You can go back to your days of sleep without a worry. I know exactly what Jacob was talking about and I can easily finish the case by myself."

His words hurt me to the core. He didn't even bother to fight for me, though I could tell he was just angered. I didn't want to leave him like that. If it was time to truly peel away, I wanted a sweet memory despite the hell we were both trapped in. "Well, that's... terrific. Then I won't have to work on the case with you anymore." Sherlock's eyes snapped to my face. Instead of anger, there was surprise. He could see now that I wasn't joshing. "I can leave it all to you. Things can go back to normal."

His laughter took me by surprise. "You think my life has ever been normal?" I managed a small smile. He had a point. "Not ever, and especially not with you around. You often emotionally and physically get in my way and I will not deny that it is a burden."

Only one part of that harsh monologue stuck out to me. Slowly, my eyes peeked up. "... Emotionally?"

"You've commented before on leaving and I struggle to admit what I have felt like at those times." My heart began to speed up at every word. I watched his mouth move, my sub-conscious pathetically reverting back to the times when our lips had met... When his hands had held my tightly... I shook my head. I had to let that all pass. "I thought what might happen if I would be the one to leave you." I cocked my head furthur up in surprise. What an odd thought! Holmes running away from his emotions? Did he even have that many? I saw them. I might have been the only one, but I knew they were there. "If you didn't come and find me..." He shook his head with frustration. "Go back to rest. You'll be needing it because I won't allow you to leave this case."

My heart was threatening to burst as I stared at the moonlight pouring onto his face. Pure white. Just a streak of white light, stretched across his wrecked and sleepless body. I knew, looking at him from my standpoint that he was pure and true. He would never lie to me. He was the best man that I had ever known.

"Is it foolish for me to-" Holmes was beginning to speak to me, but I caught him before he could say anything else. I clutched his cheeks in my hands, pulling his face towards me. Our lips met instantly. I could have died in that kiss and felt happy. The day had been long and cold, and I let myself fall into his warmth. Jacob was only a few feet away and the remembrance of his broken body began to eat away at my mind. Though I wanted to stay with him, I had to break free from Sherlock. "Renadale..." he tried to speak as I quietly pulled away.

"I wanted to kiss you," I confessed. "Just once more before I left. Now, I'll take my leave."

I didn't look back as I walked towards the door. I didn't think of the blood on the floor or the hurt in their eyes. Moonlight danced across my shoes as I stepped back into the dismal world of London streets. A sick feeling washed over my when I realized that the moonlight had become my only guidance.

~.~.~.~.~

***skipskipskip* :) Thanks~ read and review! I wanted to add some romance in there in case there wouldn't be a lot of time for it later... XD After all, she's got the hots for him. YEAH! Kthnxbye.**


	16. Greatest Mystery

My feet weren't running any longer. My legs weren't as strong as they had been before. My body wasn't determined to go anywhere. All I could hear was my heels clicking on the marble floor of the museum. One by one, my feet made their way down the stairs. My arms laid limply at my side. My lips were cold now without another's lips against them. The eyes that saw murder and death were tired of seeing such things. They stared ahead as I trudged towards the entrance. I felt one at with the objects around me. Alone, secluded, worn-out. _You're all lucky_, I thought to myself. _Sleeping for all these years and never having to see what the world has become. _

I was leaving the museum, but I was taking the opposite way. I was getting closer to Jacob with every step, and eventually he came into my view. Just like when he was standing, a pale streak from the windows shown down upon Jacob's body. His blonde hair was painted with streaks of red. His grey eyes looked forward, large and afraid. I wanted to be scared of what I saw before me. As I heard my heartbeat in my ears; knowing it was something Jacob could no longer hear, I knew that I was no longer bothered. My breathing was catching up with my heart as I stepped closer to him. Kneeling myself down to his level, I slowly outreached my hands to touch his cold face. "Jacob..." I whispered, knowing he wouldn't respond. "You didn't kill my friend." I didn't take note of it, but I knew tears were stinging my eyes. They were falling, the clearness of them mixing with the blood beneath me. It was a pool of red swirls like the paint in the museum's galleries. There was little splendour in Jacob's blood, however. "I'm sorry that I couldn't help you." My hands fell from his face. "I'm sorry that no one could."

My last glance at the boy was one I knew wouldn't leave my mind. Something must have passed by the museum. The light was knocked out from the window. Everything was black for a moment. Then, like heaven itself, the light came back onto his face. "I'm sorry I have to leave you here." Jacob and I weren't alone in the room. I turned around to met Sherlock's eyes. "Did you have something else to say, Detective Holmes?"

His face stared straight forward. He didn't flinch, or sigh, or rush towards me. It was as though he expected this the entire time. He expected me to leave and he wasn't going to do anything about it. Normally, I might have been upset with that. At that moment though, I was thankful. A simple life was perhaps the one I wanted. Not this one. That was certain. "You might be apologizing to the boy," he said casually from his spot. "But, know that I should be the one to do so."

"You're not acting normal," I said flatly. "You would never blame this on yourself."

His brown eyes for a moment seemed as distant as Jacob's. The sudden thought of a lifeless Holmes horrified me. I wanted to take a step forward to see if he was still there, but I stopped myself. I couldn't fall back into my foolish state of mind. "You don't think I would blame a suicide on myself? You don't think I'd blame things on myself?" His chin lifted a bit higher. "Miss Adkins, if I would have said your case of study, I think it would have been me. It looks like you are failing in your efforts to see the truth."

"About you?" My brow rose. "Perhaps. Let's not give it much time to figure itself out." Those words dripped from my tongue with uncertainty. Was it _really _what I wanted? A normal life? A normal life away from Sherlock Holmes? If I looked at him again, I knew that I would change my mind. My eyes drifted to the side wall. "I'm leaving now. I wish you all the best of luck on your case."

I turned my back to him, continuing in the direction I had started. His eyes were on me, and not the dead boy in front of him. Perhaps he viewed me just as much as a case as he did the others. I could imagine him in my head. I could hear him as clear as day.

_You are my greatest mystery, Renadale Adkins. _

~.~.~.~.~.~

A couple of days passed. I stayed inside my room at my mother's home for most of the bright _and_ dark hours. I was inventing again. I was using the mind that my father loved so much to make myself a worth-while candidate in this world. My mother resented it, of course. She figured it was a way of dealing with Edward's death, so she said very little on the matter. He often entered my thoughts as I worked, and it only made me work harder. He also would have wanted me to have a good position in life.

A couple of days later, I was laying in my bed. It was the afternoon, but I didn't feel like getting up. I listened to the rumble of carriages and shouts of people busily going on with their lives from outside my window. The sun warmed my face slightly and drifted me even further into sleep.

"Renadale!" My mother's voice was an unwelcome visitor during my peaceful rest. "Your friend is here. Perhaps you'd like to get out of bed and speak with him?" My first thought was that it was Sherlock, but I soon realized. He would never appear at the door to my bedroom. It wasn't in his nature. There was only one person who would do that.

"Tell Watson to go back home," I mumbled beneath my covers.

"You're such a foolish young woman! Do you think you're making you proud to call you my daughter? I don't know what's gotten into you, but you're awfully rude these days, and I'm embarassed to call you my own!" Mother was often harsh because of her nerves and I learned to blockade her spasms of fury.

"Mother, I do know who it is. It's-"

"Dr. Watson, come to see his old and pathetic friend," I heard a deep voice say from my doorway. "Don't be foolish like your mother said, Rena. You don't even have to move. I've only come to talk." His loud shoes clammered their way over to my bedside. I knew he was leaning forward by the creak of the wood. Any moment now, he would rip the covers from me. "Do you want me to peel these sheets off? Do you wish for me to see you in your sleep wear?"

I looked down to see my frilly, white pajamas that my mother insisted I wore. Like a bullet, I shot upwards in my bed and pulled the cover to my neck. My cheeks were suddenly hot as I looked straight into the face of Dr. Watson. "Can you perhaps wait a moment outside while I change?"

He smirked as he dug his hands into his pockets. "I haven't got that much time. You'll have to be comfortable being in your pajamas at this point." He turned around, shooting a brilliant smile towards my mother. "I won't do her any harm, Mrs. Adkins. If you please, a moment alone to talk to your daughter is what I request."

"A moment?" My mother's hands found their way to her hips. "For the love of all things good, talk to her for weeks until she becomes a bit more feminine." With that note, my mother tightly grasped the handle of my door and slammed it shut, sending a chilling boom across the room.

I curled myself further into the corner of my bed. "You're certainly unexpected, doctor." He didn't even respond. He only smiled wider. Looking around the room, he managed to find my desk chair and pull it to my bedside. "Dr. Watson, did you have something to tell me?"

"I did, actually. Even the stupidest of people could know what I have to say to you." He cocked his happy face to the side. "Do I really need to tell you?" Of course he didn't. I knew what he wanted the second he walked into my room. I merely shook my head. "Was that a no towards my question, or a no towards my unstated question?"

"Both," I said firmly. "Let me go back to sleep."

I was about to further myself under the blankets, but his tight hands clasped my shoulders. "I really don't wish to be touching you like this, Miss Adkins. It's unfriendly and pertruding. However, if you consider hiding under your covers again, I'm afraid I'll have to push both of our barriers." Without planning it, a quick grin spread across my face. I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep myself from laughing. "Are you laughing at me? Am I really that humerous to you?" The more he questioned, the further I had to suppress my amusement. The whole situation was ridiculous and watching Watson be so stern was hardly familiar. "That's the Renadale I know." He leaned back into his chair. "Go on, laugh at my anger."

"Watson!" I laughed, still smiling. "Why on Earth do you think I'll come back? That's what you're here for, isn't it? What makes you think that I'll be able to benefit you? Unlike you two, I have made my decision. I don't want the life you have. I choose not to live one filled with death."

"Is it because you can't handle it?" He said, his face suddenly serious. "Is it because you cannot handle what lays before your eyes, or what is it that you're afraid of?" I clamped my mouth shut, intimidated by his sudden interrogation. What _was_ my answer? "Do you think that perhaps that job will forbid you from love? Is it because it reminds you of the deceased people you held dear to your heart?" He slowly tilted his head to the other side. "Is it Sherlock?"

"It has nothing to do with Sherlock Holmes." That was a lie. Watson knew it as well. He looked at me for a long time and read my face better than ever.

"You're afraid you're getting in his way."

"I _am_ getting in your way."

"Don't you think if that was the case he would have gotten rid of you by now?"

"How could he? I was part of the cases. I was a piece in his game. He couldn't simply discard me."

"No, Renadale, you weren't."

I paused for a moment, confused. "Surely, I was!" My brows came together in anger. "I was part of the case because... Well, because, I-" My mouth began to dry up. I stared ahead at the machine on my wall, confused as to what to say next. Because I was working in Sherlock's house at the time? Because Emily was my neighbor? She had other neighbours, too. "Watson, you're confusing me."

"Renadale, you truly helped us." Gently, he placed a friendly hand on my bed. "You will continue to help us if you would just come back and give this case one last try." I continued to stare ahead. I wanted so badly for his words not to influence me, so I tried to block them out by focussing on the city outside. "Don't you remember the satisfaction you got from the success of the last case?" I was about to answer, but he raised a hand, already reading my mind. "I know the feeling of people dying was awful. I know that feeling of sinking failure when you heard of another death tore out your heart. Yet, knowing how many more lives you saved... Renadale, that feeling can never escape you."

"I understand what you're trying to say," I said calmly. "You have to understand that I know what you are talking about." Finally, I turned to look at him. "Yet, why now? Why must I come and help you _now_? Why not a few days ago?"

Watson slowly removed his hand from my bed. His face dropped a bit and I could see a dark story lingering beneath his eyes. The deepened wrinkles on his forehead made me begin to feel sick. "John, what is it?" My body inched closer towards the bed as he hesitated to answer. "Has something happened?"

"Something's happened to Sherlock. Renadale, I'm asking for your help. No, I'm _begging_. Irene and I are both asking that you come back. You're the only one who understands new inventions, and I'm not entirely-"

Quickly, I flung myself from my bed, grabbing my coat. I didn't even consider putting a new outfit on. "If something's happened then we need to go!" I said urgently. "Explain to me on the way to where he is."

"There's a problem with that," Watson said, standing up quickly. Whether is was the stress of his words, or the fear of breaking my heart, he struggled to get his next sentence out. "Sherlock is missing."

I thought my ears were devising a deadly trick on me. Did Watson say 'fishing'? Perhaps that was it. He couldn't be missing. Sherlock Holmes kept tabs on everything. "What do you mean?" I whispered in fear. "What do you _mean _you don't know where he is?"

Watson hung his head as his voice struggled to go on. "Renadale, I don't know where he is. Neither of us do! None of us know anything. He left no note, he left nothing... I thought they had taken him somewhere, but the thought of that at first seemed unlikely." His eyes desperately raised to meet mine. "Now, I'm not so sure."

"You can't disregard anything," I said quickly. "We have to find him. If something were to happen..." Something began to spin in my stomach. I felt ill, as though my words would come out as nothing but garble and tears. "I'll only be ten minutes to get changed," I encouraged. "Just give me a moment."

Tears were forming in my eyes the second Watson left my room. Knowing they would only cause trouble, I wiped them away fiercely. Pathetically, I could hear my guilty, shaky voice in my head. I whispered things to myself that I was sure he once whispered about me.

_Sherlock Holmes, don't you dare leave me._

~.~.~.~.~.~

_I pulled my knees up to my chest, heavily sighing with satisfaction. A lazy finger ran it's way through my hair. I spun around to see Sherlock standing behind the couch with his finger near my head. "Why are you touching me?"_

_"Doltish," I heard him whisper. "That's exactly what you are." I stayed curled up, afraid to admit that I didn't know what that meant. "It means stupid."_

_With a gasp, I sat up straighter. "Excuse me?" I cried. "I'm moody, and you're only trying to make me more mad?"__ He was much more flirtatious today than normal. It was a drastic change from the days when he wouldn't pay attention to me much at all... which was about every day. __Two soft hands grabbed my face and turned it to theirs. "What... what are you doing?"_

_Sherlock Holmes stared at me blankly. "I'm looking at you, Miss Adkins."_

_My eye size wouldn't go back to normal. "Considering my lack of charm, I would recommend you not to do that."_

_He shook his head, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. "Lack of charm does not go without raise in something else. You may believe that you possess no lady-like qualities, but you're rather pretty."_

_"Rather pretty?" I was mocking him, but the warm feeling in my stomach wouldn't simmer "Oh, don't flatter me to death."__ It was the first time Sherlock Holmes had ever said something like that. He never complimented me. He rarely told me that he even liked having me around. It was a miracle if he even said he liked me._

_"It's your turn to say something about me."_

_"Sherlock Holmes, you are the worst man I've ever seen with women. There. I've said the only thing I could think of to say to you." His smiled disappeared for a moment before I grinned. "But, that's a good thing. That way I have you all to myself."_

_"You do," he mumbled. "You do have me."_

~.~.~.~.~

This memory found its way into my mind as Watson and I briskly walked towards their apartment. He could tell I was deep in thought, but he didn't stop me. He just let me walk and think. It was calming me from the situation that I was buried in and the memory was so rare and different that I needed to keep it in my head. I wasn't sure how well I would do in this case. Whatever I had to do to save him, I would. Without him, London would be a mess. Without him, the _world_ would be a mess. I would lay down my life for him. I wasn't angry at myself for leaving, because it was what I wanted. But, I would never forget all of the things he did for me. I would repay him even if it meant my life.

"Renadale, we musn't waste any time," Watson said as we reached the door to their home. "Are you prepared?" I nodded, unable to speak. "I'll be with you. I'll be by your side if anything were to happen." I nodded once more. "Are you afraid?" Another nod. "Yes, so am I. I'm sure he's alright. There isn't a doubt in my mind that Holmes has got things under control."

All I wanted was for him to be back in his Baker street room. He wasn't going to let murderers just take him away from his world. He was better than that. He was alive and safe.

But why is it that when I told myself those words, I couldn't trust them?


	17. Changed Focus

**Hey~ Sorry it took a while again. We were in tech week for James and the Giant Peach. I'm the ladybug. :) It's my last performance today, and I've been trying to find time to do this, James, homework and get my liscense, so life has been pretty crazy. Stay with me please! RATE AND COMMENT :D**

~.~.~.~.~.~

When we reached Sherlock's room, Irene was already frantically running about. She was tossing on her hat, her gloves, her coat, nearly anything she could think she possibly might need. "Irene?" Watson mumbled under his breath. "We're not _moving_ anywhere. You don't need all of that stuff." She simply continued galavanting around the crowded room.

"You know, for an unromantic man you would think he would throw my old things away!" She was not flattered by this. Her tone of voice was clearly annoyed and frustrated. "I wasn't planning on staying here this long. I was just supposed to be in London for a short while, but now look what he's gone and done! Not to mention, the weather lately has been dreadful, and I wouldn't mind picking up some of my old coats."

_Does Holmes ever toss anything out?_ I looked over at a bookshelf where I saw old pipes lined up in a row. _Of course he doesn't._

I heard Watson's foot clicking on the wooden floor impatiently. "Irene, must we really-" Watson could barely finish his sentence before she pushed right past him and down the stairs.

"Come on!" She fiddled with the buttons on her flamboyant red coat as she raced towards the door. "We really haven't got much time now, do we? Oh, and Miss Adkins!" She looked up at me from the bottom of the staircase. "I do hope you have some ideas as to where he might be, because I don't. Judging by Watson's expression right now, I'm sure he doesn't either."

"She's right," he mumbled. "I haven't got the slightest idea."

With a heavy sigh, I attempted to recall all the possible places that he might be at. The list was too large. We had been so many places on this case, any one of them could have been the option. "It couldn't be the woods. That was an escape for dead bodies." Watson's face grew pale at my words. "He's not dead yet. I know he isn't."

"Well, even if he is, we really ought to find him soon." Irene shouted once again. "Let's think as we walk, yes?" She waved her hand dramatically, signaling for us to come down with her. She was right. If we wanted to find him, we would have to overlap and work and think at the same time. Watson and I quickly met her downstairs where we proceeded to head outside. The streets were busy now that the skies were starting to get clear. Because so many crowds were out, it would make things harder for us, but we had to press on.

"Do you have any ideas yet?" Watson whispered to me, interrupting my thoughts.

"Not entirely," I mumbled.

"Brilliant!" Irene mumbled. "Because _I _do. Follow me."

~.~.~.~.~.~

Irene took us halfway across the city. It was a route I was familiar with and one that I had hoped I would not return to. We were heading towards the brothel and it wasn't hard to see where she was going to take us from there. We had discussed that the gang had stayed in a building across the street; easy for them to watch their prey. We hadn't reported it to the police, so it was very probable that they were still there. And maybe Sherlock was with them.

"This makes me nervous," Watson said to me as we walked. I looked up at him in confusion. "I'm not talking about Sherlock's disappearance," he answered briskly. "The fact that this case is taking quite some time puts me on edge. I suppose you can't rush things, but in the end, without Sherlock's help I wonder how much we can actually get done."

"Perhaps there were too many heads in one case," I responded. "Which is why I suggested me taking a leave-"

Watson shook his head and offered me a small smile. "You know that wasn't possible, Miss Adkins." Unfortunately he and Sherlock had reminded me of that several times. "At any rate, the amount of detectives will soon be numbered to two."

"Yes," I nodded as we turned down a dark corner. "Once Irene leaves again and I follow closely in her steps."

Watson slowly glanced down at me. "You? You'd leave Holmes to do all the work by himself?" He scoffed. "Miss Adkins, I know that you're not fond of these cases, but would you really do such a thing to Sherlock Holmes? Believe it or not, he needs a partner. He needs someone around to keep him sane."

"Which is why _you're _here." I was about to complain once again, but I saw Watson glance down towards his left hand. A marvelous red jewel caught my eye, glinting in the early morning sunshine. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I had entirely forgotten."

"It's alright." Nothing seemed to faze him. "She can wait until this case is finished. In fact, she often writes me and tells me that if I come near her before the case is solved, she'll break the engagement." The thought of Mary was bringing pink to Watson's unshaved cheeks. He sighed heavily, his eyes redirecting themselves towards the sun. "I owe her so much more than that. I can't stay on these cases forever."

I hadn't thought much on it before, but Watson was right. He wouldn't be there for much longer. He wouldn't be hanging around upstairs or downtown with us. It was all up to Sherlock now. He could easily handle things on his own, but why should he have to? Did I really have to be his new partner? "I've got an idea!" I shouted suddenly. "Why don't we have interviews?"

"Interviews?" Watson muttered. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

"For a new partner! A new partner for Sherlock Holmes!" My mind whirrled at the idea. Of course, it wasn't his style of doing things, but it wouldn't leave him alone. And for Sherlock's health I felt it was best that he was with someone.

Watson rejected the idea in an instant. "You know he wouldn't do that. It's not his way; he'd only choose someone who he felt comfortable with. Also, he wouldn't want someone who'd do it willingly. He likes to push people into situations they don't like. _Those_ are his types of people." I knew Watson was right once I heard the words. There was no way Sherlock would hire someone who actually wanted to do the job. He had a way of gathering people who absolutely longed to be somewhere else.

"I hate to interrupt your interesting conversation," Irene whispered. "But we're here. I'm not too sure how secretive we should be about this."

The building front was flat, and the bricks it was made out of were crumbling. It wasn't nice like some of the other ones in London, and the shabbiness made it all too clear that this could easy be a spot where the men resided. "These are Federal-style buildings," I said as I recognized the exterior. "There's nothing secret about them; they're plain. If you drill a hole in the floor, you'd be in someone else's living room in seconds."

Watson narrowed his brows. "So, there's nowhere to hide secrets here. It really must have just been for an office. A meeting place, rather."

My eyes skimmed the outside of the building. Windows. Bricks. An occasional flower pot on the window sill, but other than that, everything looked simple.

"Wait," Irene said suddenly. Without an explanation she made her way inside of the building. The door swung slowly behind her until it was latched permanently. Watson and I looked at one another quickly before charging in after her. We weren't about to lose her too.

"Just as I thought!" Irene shouted at us happily as she pointed towards an open door. "A toilet."

Watson and I winced in unison. The shabbiness of the place was even more revolting inside, not to mention the horrid smell. Watson casually made his way over to shut the door. "That's fantastic, Miss Adler. Thank you for your observations."

"No, Watson. She's right!" Irene's mindset was finally coming in handy as I picked up on where she was going. "This building is close to the sewer we went to. It's one of the first common buildings with a proper sewage system." Watson winced in disgust. "There must be a way to get from here to the sewage system without having to walk over to it from the outside."

"Like you said," Irene smirked. "Drill a hole and you'll be in someone's living room in seconds."

~.~.~.~.~.~

We had three things we needed to remember.

1. They wouldn't build a secret route by the bathroom, or else they might cut through the sewage pipes.

2. Holmes needed to be found. Quickly.

3. We couldn't make it obvious that we had been there, even if no one happened to be there that day.

"It's a good thing that no one else is here," Irene said as we tapped the floor for hollow spots. "It might mean that they're with Sherlock."

"You're right," I said, pounding on the floor with my fist. "Especially because-"

"What was that?" Watson asked as my hands rose from the floor. I tapped the area once more, listening closely as an echo hummed in response. "Is that peice of wood hollow?" Waton grinned wildly. Quickly, we both began to pull at the nails in the floorboard until the whole piece shot up. I peered down into the blackness that laid beneath it. Normally, I might have been nervous, but I had already been down to the sewers once before. The possibility of Sherlock being down there was enough to get my feet moving. "Well, I gaurentee you that there's no straw under here."

"That's it!" Irene said, rushing over to me. She began to tug at the floor boards, one after the other. Watson and I followed in unison. None of us talked. We tore until a hole was formed; just big enough for a body to slide down.

Watson peered over the edge with hesitation. "Being as I'm the man..."

Irene and I nodded.

Watson grumbled unhappily, sliding his feet over the edge. Shutting his eyes tightly, he hopped down the tunnel. Irene and I waited to hear for a thump not long afterwards. "It's all dark and I can't see a bloody thing." Watson called from above. "It's clear that they were the ones who invented the thing, because there's something soft at the bottom. When you come down, bring a match, will you?"

"I'll go," Irene said sternly. "You find a match and meet us down there."

I nodded as she disappeared from my sight. She left as suddenly as she had come into my life. As I searched the room for a light, I could hear the two of them talking from below. "Ouch!" Watson screeched. "You'll rip my coat if you do that again, as well as my neck."

"Calm down," Irene grumbled. "You _did _rip my coat." I heard a snap. "You're got to be kidding me! My heel? Honestly?" With a grunt of anger, I heard her toss her shoe towards something.

"Miss Adler, what did you just throw at me?"

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a pile of matches from inside of a desk drawer and rushed to meet them. A pair of men's shoes stood by the doorway. Considering Irene had offered to buy me a hit, I figured bringing them to her was the least I could do. Shortly afterwards, I slid down the hole and landed on a soft cushion. It was complete darkness, but John's bitter voice welcomed my appearance.

"Welcome, Miss Adkins," I heard Watson mumble.

"Thank you," I balanced myself as I stood. The matches were quickly pulled and lit from my pocket. As the brightness of the flame lit up the area, I noticed the anxiety of Watson and Irene's faces. "Here," I said, handing her the shoes. "Put these on."

"These are mens shoes," She grumbled. I continued to hold them out towards her, knowing she would take them eventually. She stared at them for a moment before obediently sliding them on her polished feet. "For all I know, I'm wearing murderer's shoes." Pathetically, she tossed her other heel into the blackness.

"Let's go," I whispered. "I don't think we'll want to stay here for much longer. After all, we're in a sewer."

"I can smell that," Watson scoffed.

Irene trudged along my right side, sliding her feet across the stone floor. "These shoes are far too large."

"If you continue to complain about your shoes, I'm not sure how much quicker we're going to solve this," I mumbled beneath my breath. Of course she heard it, but she said nothing. "We're going to find Holmes," I said a little louder. "We will find him and save him." My hand holding the match began to shake as my words poured out. I cursed my lack of bravery as I watched the fire dance.

"Yes," Watson lied through his teeth. "Everything will be alright."

Irene glanced over at us. "Stop kidding yourselves. You have no idea what the outcome of this case will be." We both stopped to look her. "You can't expect anything. That's one thing that I've learned when I'm working. You have to deal with what you have at the moment. All we have is each other and that match. So, I reccomend you stop fooling yourselves. We can try, but don't get your hopes up." Something infinitely sad passed through her face. I almost missed it, but I didn't blink. "Sherlock was the one who taught me that."

She was right. The more I thought about it, the more I knew that at the moment I had to watch out for her and Watson. Holmes was our goal, but I shouldn't get my hopes up. I had to stay in reality. And reality was a scary thing.

But, I had been scared before.


	18. Offense

We kept walking through the stench filled tunnels. Irene buried her face in her scarf, her large and curious eyes poking out like a rodent. I noticed that as time went on, more light began to appear. This was a good thing considering we were running out of matches.

My mind began to tease me again with it's never-ending display of questions. I felt like I was back in primary school, getting tested on my basics. How did this case even start? Where were we even getting? Our only way to finding out shot himself in the head. People were dropping dead all around us, and now they had Holmes. If this case failed, would it fail with our deaths too? I shook the thought away from my mind. Holmes wouldn't want me to think in that way. I had to stay positive.

No matter what happened, I had to stay positive.

"I've been doing some thinking," Irene's voice took us by surprise. We were both getting used to our own silence. Watson and I curiously glanced at her as our feet robotically carried on. "Maybe we clarified this already, but did we ever solve how these people were being murdered?"

Watson snatched the match from my hand and held it closer towards Irene's face. "Your face is quite serious." His eyes were cold as they scanned her smooth skin. "I'm presuming you're not playing with us when you're asking this question." Irene let out a sarcastic chuckle before shoving his hand away from her face.

"Clearly you're not the ones who have your head on straight. If you think about it, if their organs were taken out so perfectly, they would have to be dead before. There were no stab marks, right? How did they kill the people ahead of time?" Watson and I must have looked comical because Irene couldn't help but laugh at our dumbfounded faces. I had to hand it to her. We hadn't thought of that. "Well?"

Watson buried his hands in his pockets. I lit another match in the darkness. It reminded me of the spark of answers that came shooting into my head. "Could they have smothered them?" I asked. "It would make sense for no one being able to hear their screams."

Irene shuddered. "Gruesome."

"Yes, but they could have used the sewers for that." Watson scratched his head.

"What about posion?" Irene said casually. "How about that for starters?"

Poison?

Poison! Was it too cliche? Or was this case all just cliche? Was it really just murders for organs and science? Money was all that seemed to matter anymore. Money and your reputation. "If it was done with poison, then it would be easy to tell." I suggested. "We could track down where they got their poison and then find out who and where they are!"

Watson cracked a smile. "You're certainly happy about this thought, aren't you?"

Indeed I was. My stomach was flipping itself over because if we found the murderers, we found Sherlock. That was the top spot on my to-do list. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Irene whispered. "We came down here without weapons. We came down here without expectations or plans. I feel like we haven't been planning at all, actually. What if they _are_ down here?" Her half-shadowed face stared at me with intensity. I didn't like where this was going. "What if we can't get out?"

I knew she was right, but I needed to keep her calm. "Irene..." I tried to keep my voice from shaking. "You deal with cases all the time. Why are you suddenly worrying about that now?"

She shook her head, looking away from me. "It's nothing." Her voice almost disappeared between the stone walls. "I was acting stupid; getting caught up in the moment." Her voice continued to drop. "I have to get a hold of myself." Watching her confident state falter made me a bit nervous. Sherlock Holmes. She wanted him back just as much as I did.

"Let's just keep walking," Watson suggested. "Let's not scare ourselves to death." All we could do was nod and keep walking.

Light was seeping in from up above through various street drains and I could hear the chitter chatter of people and the roll of carriages passing over. The noise should have comforted me. It should have made me feel surrounded and safe, but it only made things worse. People were leading normal lives up there while we were all fighting for our lives down in the sewers. People said that London was the rise of the future, but at points it felt like the scum of the Earth.

"I feel like we've been walking for miles," I finally whispered in the silence. "How far do these sewers go?"

"As far as they wanted them to go." Watson's response did not lighten my mood.

"No," Irene said. "They would stop in the city. That way no one can hear them. If the noise coming from up above continues to happen, no one can hear them talking from down here. It makes complete sense."

Watson rubbed his eyes tiredly. "So what you're saying is that if they're down here, they're near this area." Irene didn't answer him. She didn't have to. The cold stare of her blue eyes was entranced by another view. I watched as her eyes froze to something behind Watson. "Miss Adler?" Watson asked tiredly. "Irene, are you alright?"

"So, you've finally decided to show up?" The voice that spoke was dreadfully familiar. Without the face, I couldn't seem to place it, but that didn't stop my body from trembling. Pathetically, I looked at Irene, but she shared my expression. "I wondered when you would get down here. Watson, you're looking paler than normal."

"You..." Watson could barely believe his eyes. Shock dripped from each of his pores until a sudden burst of anger sent him flying towards the man. Irene shrieked, grabbing him tightly by the waist and pulling him back to us. I couldn't resist not turning around. Watson was breathing heavily as Irene clutched to him, trying to make him relax. The man was not who we wanted to see. Life would have been easier if it were anyone but him.

Rupert Thompson. White shirt untucked. Hair distorted. Hands dirty.

Smiling.

He looked much more menacing than before, which was a downfall considering I already didn't like him to begin with. "I knew it," I whispered, catching his attention. "All along, I knew it. I suspected you the moment I saw you. Something wasn't right in your gaze."

He raised his brows towards me in amusement. "Ah, the naive Renadale dares to speak out for once? That's quite a change. I thought you were hiding away, weren't you? After your Edward friend got murdered, you didn't very much like the idea of people, did you?" He cocked his head to the side, mockingly. "Quite a shame. I heard he was _really_ good at the piano."

"Oh, like it matters to you!" Bitter laughter racked against my ribs. "You act like you're some sort of saint and think it's okay?" I suddenly knew what it was like to hate someone with so much passion, that you would give anything to see them dead. "I could kill you in an instant and feel nothing." I knew I was only digging my grave even deeper, but Thompson wasn't going to take me seriously.

"Kill me?" He laughed. "_You_? I'm actually offended! You think that you're my matchmaker? You've got to be joking." He grimaced as his dark eyes trailed over my body. "You're nothing but a pauper."

I had to breathe deeply to control myself. Irene wasn't there to hold me back, nor would she. "Where are your other men?" I shouted at him. "Where's the big, tough gang you've got?" The more I spoke, the more he smiled. I knew I wasn't getting anywhere by yelling at him, but my anger wouldn't allow for me to contain myself. "You know who I'm talking about. The ones who took me and Irene!"

"Those men? Hah! If they can even be called that." He ran his hands through his messy hair. His unformality was bothering me. He wasn't even being sinister! He was being so casual, it was as though my mind wanted to believe that nothing was wrong, when I knew everything was. "I hired them to take care of you while I figured out what Holmes planned to do next. It surprised me how easily you all believed me. I suppose I never gave reason as to why you shouldn't have."

"You didn't," Irene spat at him. "Holmes trusted you. You knew Renadale's father and he thought you were a good man because of it." My heart twisted into a knot. Holmes based his trust on my father? He didn't even know my father. Why would he do such a thing?

Thompson noticed my tightening face. "Maybe her father was just as unworthy of a man as me."

_How dare he... _My voice scared even me inside of my head. Accusing my father was not going to be let down easily. I could feel a scream bubbling inside my throat and I knew that my feet would charge towards him at any second. Instead, it was Watson who beat me to it. His hands lunged for Thompson's shirt collar. The two stumbled for a moment before Watson pinned him to the nearest wall.

"Where did you take him?" Thomas flashed his yellow teeth in a smile before spitting on the ground next to Watson. That was the only answer he was going to give. In desperation, Watson craned his head towards me and Irene. "Go!" He shouted. "Go and find him!"

Irene didn't look to keen. "But you're-"

"I said to _go_!" Watson repeated.

Irene and I rushed off further down the tunnels. The mere mention of my father was enough to disorient me. My feet stumbled over themselves until I felt my entire body slowing down. Irene's soft hands gripped my arms in suppose. "You know he didn't mean what he said. He only said it to upset you."

My tears threatened to fall as I looked up her. The strength in her face was admirable, and I knew she was right. We had bigger things to worry about than my emotions. Nodding my head, I continued further down the tunnels with her. "Holmes!" I cried out. "Sherlock, where are you?" There was no answer. We ran until we reached a fork in the tunnels; either way could have been dangerous. "Where could he be?"

Irene's lack of words gave me all the answer I needed. A horrified gasp fell from her red lips as she dashed straight past me. "Holmes!" She cried in desperation. I followed her with my eyes, but my legs could not join in. A thousand knives had been plunged into my stomach as I shared her line of vision. Everything was slower than I knew it was. Her red coat flew behind her in a blur, like the blood spilling from Jacob's head. My vision was fogging up, but I could make out what she was running to. A body. Stone cold. Lifeless? He was pressed up against the wall with his matted hair dangling in front of his sealed eyes. The shirt he wore was torn open, displaying a body decorated with deeply red stains.

Sherlock Holmes wasn't moving. His eyes did not flicker open for a welcome.

"Holmes!" I heard Irene cry from down the way. She grabbed his tenderly in her hands, but he remained the same. "Can you hear me?"

I couldn't have imagined it. The scene was not something that was possible to me. It was like I was in a horror novel. Things could not be real. Was it a dream? It felt my knees buckled beneath me as my mind tried to comprehend the situation. Nothing came to me. My mind was as numb as the waves of the sea. Sounds from above were all gathering into one, long hum. The only thing I could do was curl my knees further into my chest like a pathetic infant.

Irene's muffled voice rang out towards me. "Renadale?" I could tell she was shouting, but in my head it was as soft as a goodnight kiss. "Wait... Holmes? Holmes, can you hear me? Are you alright?"

I heard nothing for a while. Then, everything was silence. Silent like the grave.

_Wake up. Please, wake up._


	19. Bitter Truth

**I'm not going to give you any excuses. It's been… Oh, what? 7 months since I've written this story? I honestly have no excuse. I have been busy, that's true. But, I certainly had time to write this story. It scared me, I'll admit. I didn't think I had a handle on what I was saying, and I wasn't sure if it was going well.**

** However, this week I sat through and I re-read the whole thing. I took notes and planned everything out in my head. I missed this story, I missed it's readers, and I missed writing. So, I really do apologize to all of you, but you deserve more than that. So, this chapter, and the upcoming ones are all I can offer to you!**

**If you do still care… Please review? :[ **

**Or don't. I can understand if you don't want to review. But, the chapter's here... at any rate? **

**Infinite X's and O's,**

**~mistrostrings~**

~.~.~.~.~

Life came flooding back to me unexpectedly. I watched Irene struggle with Holmes for minutes until I could no longer feel the breath oozing out of my chest. Quickly, I stopped holding the air around me and let myself sigh again. Irene's pale hands continued to slap Sherlock's cheeks repeatedly, but when he failed to detect her trial, she turned an equally white face to me. "Renadale, he's not waking up." She muttered pathetically, her hands still holding his face. I found myself doing nothing but staring. What could _I_ say? What could I do?

My knees shook horribly beneath my dress as I arose. Holmes wasn't responding to anything. A sense of defeat was swirling around us and we could do nothing but succumb to it. Pitifully, Irene dropped her head. "What do we do?" She managed to choke out. "What should we _do_?" It was an echo of my recent thoughts.

The more I looked at Holmes, the worse he began to seem. I could see more clearly the damage that Rupert Thompson had done to him. His shirt wasn't just dirty, but bloody. His face wasn't just rubbed in with muck and grime, but with a deep stain of red outlining each crease in his tired case. "Irene." I took a step closer to him. She looked upwards at me with urgent, pleading eyes. "Is he bleeding?" I dropped to my knees, reaching out and taking his shirt in my hands. "He has to be bleeding somewhere, but I can't find the source."

Feverishly, I fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, trying to find the wound. When the buttons finally slipped from my fingers, I let out a large gasp. It was all I could do not to fall backwards. My hands fell against the coldness of the sewer floor, but it didn't make a difference. My fingers had been cold for a long while. What I looked at wasn't just a chest; it was a monument for a murderer. Streaks of blood were strewn across his torso with cuts buried into it. It was like a painting that every murderer wanted to see on their victims. I couldn't tell the depth of the cuts, but it was clear that they were not thin. The darkness seemed to go on forever; wounds that wouldn't just stop at his skin. Wounds that would not just hurt him, but me too.

"My God!" Irene gasped. "How did I not notice? I was so focused on waking him up that I…" She shook her head, pulling back his shirt again to look at his wounds. Only a few seconds were needed until she covered it back up and turned away. Her uneasy hands continued to shake as pools of tears formed at the bottom of her drained eyes.

"Do not blame yourself," I muttered and stood up. "The wounds are a couple of days old. He must have gotten them the first day when he was taken." Hearing my own voice made me a little nervous. I sounded much more confident than what I felt. My eyes couldn't look at Holmes for very long, or else I knew I would crack like I always did. Yet, I knew that Holmes had been there for me numerous times. Now it was _my_ turn to be strong. He needed me now, and God help me, I would try my best.

I turned on my heels, causing Irene to quickly stand in unison. "Renadale? Where are you going?"

Without turning back, I continued to put one foot firmly in front of the other. My weak knees were suddenly becoming solid again. Like Holmes often did, I lifted my chin up high to hide any fear that might have been showing. As I continued to walk forwards, I could see Watson staring at me with a knowing expression on his face. Dr. Thompson's back was to me, but he spotted Watson's gaze quickly. He too turned to face me. "Ah, Miss Adkins," he said sweetly. "Back so soon?"

"We're taking him back." There was no fear in my voice, because there was no longer fear in my heart. The man was nothing. He was a disgrace and the three of us could easily handle him.

"It's funny…" He inched closer towards me. "You were always so afraid of me, but now you're as close as you've ever been." I could see blackness of his eyes then better than I ever had before. They were everlasting; seemingly inexorable. Just like his heart. He raised his eyebrows, glancing at Irene and Watson. "Don't you think that's amusing?" Neither of them spoke. "Aha, well perhaps I'm the only one with a sense of humour."

Just standing there, thoughts were beginning to fly quicker in my head than ever before. It almost hurt to think so much, but I knew what I was thinking would help us all. If I had to save Holmes, I had to think like Holmes. I had to retrace our steps and pick out phrases from specific conversations and expressions. From the first moment I saw Dr. Thompson across the street, looming and dangerous, to the last time we saw him in his lab I was putting the pieces together. I was finally solving his puzzle. And I didn't need Holmes to do it.

"Do you want to know what I find _really_ amusing?" I questioned. There was no doubt that sarcasm was seeping through every word, but I was unable to keep my composure. "What I find really interesting is the fact that the man in charge of everything… all of these murders... is a coward."

The last two words seemed to flick off of my tongue and hit Thompson square in the chest. The look of horror and disgust by my rudeness clearly shocked him without warning. His anger was not hidden for much longer. Threateningly close, I still found myself unafraid in his presence. Knowing that an unconscious Holmes was behind me made me feel like I had to stay strong, or else I would lose him for good.

"What gives you the notion that I'm… a _coward_?" I heard Irene slink over to the opposite side next to Watson. The two of them exchanged nervous glances before redirecting their gaze to me. "Stop looking at them and answer me!" I heard Thompson spit out in undeniable offense.

"Can you not see?" There was a mocking sweetness to my voice. "You planned this entire thing out, but you couldn't really handle _anything_ yourself. You had to _hire _other men to do your own dirty work." My words seem to startle him as he leaned back in confusion. Slowly, I cocked my head to the side. Just looking at his face was enough. All of his secrets were coming clear into my mind and I was unlocking each and every one with the swish of a key.

"Clever," he muttered. "But understand this, Adkins." Once more he lost his momentarily frightened demeanor. "My dirty work was in respect so that I could spend more time with my subject of focus." His eyes shifted away from mine for a second to something behind me. Holmes. He was talking about Holmes like he was prey. "I portrayed myself as a friend of yours so you could all gallantly go about your case, thinking you were on the right track. I got beat up and for what? For _you. _I did it because I knew every step I took would further Holmes's trust."

I could feel the anger swelling up inside my chest, but I bit my tongue and held it all in my tightly clenched fists. "You used us so you could _quietly_ play your game."

"And the entire time, I could watch you and figure out your next moves." His eyes twinkled momentarily. In the silence I could hear men and women above us chattering their incomprehensible words. Horse hooves only added to the tension between the four of us, sweat breaking out on each one's lip. "By acting as a friend, I figured out every move Holmes was going to make on his chess board. And when that _fool_ Jacob met you in that museum, I knew that it was my chance." There was more silence as we glared at one another. "Check and mate."

"You haven't won the game yet." I interrupted; disgusted that he really thought he had won so soon. He clearly lacked faith in Watson, Adler and I. We would prove him wrong. I would make sure of that. "I should have stayed with him. That was _my_ mistake."

"Renadale…" Watson began.

"After everything he'd done for me, I left him. I know now that this was a bad choice." Though I was admitting to my faults, my mind wouldn't stop there. There was more to the story. If I left and Holmes was the target, why didn't he take me? Why weren't any of Holmes's partners directly hurt, but rather through their own friends? Edward briefly entered my mind, more resentment spilling out of me.

It was as if Thompson could hear every thought that was spinning through my head. With a cold laugh that echoed off the circular walls, he shook his head in disappointment. "Oh, don't feel bad about leaving Holmes, Adkins." I didn't like the way my name sounded in his scratchy voice. Visibly, I cringed. "You opened up new doors for me. It was horribly upsetting when I realized I couldn't attack you or Watson directly. That would have surely sent Holmes into a downward spiral. When I had to hurt you, through the deaths of your own friends, things still didn't seem to work..."

"Why couldn't you? Why couldn't you take me or Watson?"

"Because the entire lot of you was always together!" Dr. Thompson shouted, his anger suddenly bubbling up. "Even when you were hurt, or ill, he stood by you! I could never get a moment alone with you…" Without warning, he stepped forward, his ice cold hands stroking my cheek. His forehead was laced with nervous sweat as he shook his head in wonder at my face. "Oh, what I would have done to you if I could have gotten you alone."

"That's enough!" Watson shouted, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him backwards, away from me. Irene and I watched in wonder as the anger burst inside of Watson, who once again slammed our enemy onto the wall. Through gritted teeth, he spat. "You've gotten your target. You've gotten what you wanted. Leave the rest of us out of this." Dr. Thompson was smiling, trying to laugh, but Watson's grip on his collar was far too tight.

"Clearly..." Thompson muttered. "You hold little faith in your partners."

"What I don't understand is _how _you got those men to agree to kill those people." Watson changed the subject. "And _what _exactly did the prostitutes have to do with this?"

"Your strength, doctor…" Thompson managed to choke out. "…was greatly underestimated!" Watson realized his grip was too tight and slowly let it drop. John had been in the war. Who knew what horrors he had seen? He still held him firmly in his fist, waiting for an answer. "What?" Thompson asked after momentary silence. "You really want me to just_ tell_ you? Oh, come, come… I thought you were supposed to be the detectives!"

"We found our murderer," Watson hissed. "We don't need to waste time analyzing you."

Surprisingly, Thompson redirected his gaze back to me. "Let the smart one try and figure it out. She was doing so well on her own!" He let out another deep laugh. It sent chills down my spine, but I ignored it. He may have been a murderer, but if he was putting me up to a challenge, I would take it. "Think, Renadale. You know the answers, don't you? Why did those men agree to work for me?"

I didn't know that much about them. I hardly even knew Jacob, or else I would have detected him sooner, like Irene had so accused me of earlier. I knew one thing. Jacob was not a sensible boy. He went to the insane asylum for a short period of time until the director had kicked him out. That was about all I knew. Jacob was my only option. However, all of the other men must have been insane to kill. Almost all who kill are.

And then it was like a voice going off in my head. The voice of my detective, my boss. _Hang onto that thought, Renadale. _I could hear Holmes in my head. _Use that thought._

That was it.

_That _was the reasoning behind it.

Dr. Thompson was not the mastermind.

"It wasn't you," My voice was softer than a whisper. Everyone heard me though, turning their heads in shock. "You may have _wanted_ to kill Holmes, but you're not the one in charge. Someone _sent _you to do this. Someone who works at the very place that _all _of your gang members lived." Dr. Thompson didn't respond. He merely smiled. I was on the right track. "Jacob had once said to me that his reasoning behind killing the girls was to get back at the Doctor in the insane asylum. He had somehow hurt him in the past… and I know exactly how."

Irene scrunched up her face, even more confused than before. Her composure slumped as she failed to recognize what was going on. "Start from the beginning," she said with an exasperated tone in her voice.

And so, I began.

What happened was that the director of the insane asylum had taken Emily in. He had also requested that Jacob join as well for a mere trial. It wasn't a lock up, they would simply get therapists. When he excused Jacob, it upset him deeply. He wanted to be with Emily, but the man would not stand for it.

After Emily died, Jacob lashed his anger out on Holmes for not protecting her. When he learned of Dr. Thompson's extreme hate for Sherlock, Jacob had made a deal with him that he would help with Holmes's demise.

They targeted Watson and I, knowing that we were everything Holmes had. But upon realizing that they could not find us _without_ Holmes, they tried to crush our feelings. They killed people Watson and I cared about, hoping that our depression would come as a hurt to Holmes and weaken him.

However, what Jacob didn't know at first was that Dr. Thompson was ordered by the director of the insane asylum to kill Holmes. When the news came out to Jacob, he was furious. He always hated the director, for keeping him and Emily separate, and now he was doing his dirty work. Undirected to the case, Jacob killed the prostitutes, hoping to upset the director.

At that point Thompson had to take matters into his own hands. He killed Edward, which was why Jacob was so confused when I said it was he who had done it.

They were both so foolish and so demonic. That was the main reasoning.

The reason the director was upset with Holmes? The reason he had set up a gang to set out to tear him apart? That was something I was still struggling with. Irene and Watson looked at me in amazement as I had explained the story to them. But suddenly, it was all simple. That's what Jacob said when he declared the director had 'hurt him in the past'. The director made Jacob kill people for his own gain. Jacob was too sick to fully understand what he was doing.

"Renadale, Holmes would be incredibly proud of you!" Watson declared, interrupting my train of thoughts. Dr. Thompson began to clap a little, but Watson furiously shoved him harder against the wall to get him to shut up.

"There's just one issue… I can't figure out _why_ the director would want to kill Holmes. He was very harsh when we met with him, but why?"

"We were making him nervous, that was obvious," Irene smirked. "His hair was standing on end. At least now we know why."

Dr. Thompson rolled his eyes. "If you don't see it now, you never will." We all looked at him, expecting him to give us the clue. But instead, he gave us better. He gave us the answer. "After that female doctor from the insane asylum and Emily were killed, the man nearly lost all of his money. The police were declaring the asylum as unkempt and unsafe. Everything he worked for was practically gone. He was only left with a few sick bimbos. And whose fault was it?"

"Holmes," Watson mumbled. "All because we failed to save those girls."

Dr. Thompson rolled his head around as though it had been obvious the entire time. "Right on track, old boy."

"Well then, what about you? What about the organs?" Quizzically, I wondered how they played into this whole thing.

"Clearly, it was a way to make _more_ money," he said greedily. "After losing all of it, we had to make up for lost time, didn't we?" His tone was almost mocking. His body was slumped against the wall, but he was not tired. He was as wide awake as ever. And he had Holmes.

"You're done," I said angrily. "You're done and we've discovered you. We're taking back what's ours." My stomach churned as I imagined Sherlock cracking his soft eyelids open. The second he did, and he would, I knew I could melt into those chocolate eyes. I couldn't wait for that moment much longer.

Dr. Thompson seemed impressed by my proclamation. But he was still heartless. "Ah, but he hasn't got much time. You might as well just stick it out and wait while he… fades away…" His voice dozed off into a mind theatre all his own. Before I could even comprehend what was happening, or hold my composure, I was about to shout at him. A choke was arising in my throat, but Thompson caught me before I could let it out. "Honestly, Miss Adkins. Haven't we dealt with your sobs quite enough for one day?"

That must have sent the trigger off in Watson, because he quickly let his grip loosen on the man. His white, clenched fist swung back behind his own head and came slamming down on top of Thompson's. The hit must have been a strong one, because Thompson dropped to the floor, unconscious if I ever saw a man. Watson shook out his fist with a cringe. "Well, there's certainly one thing I've learned from Holmes."

"What was he talking about?" I whimpered, twisting my fingers together nervously. "When he said he would fade away?"

Irene's face stared blankly at all of us. A dark tone overtook her voice as she said the words we all dreaded to hear.

"Poison."

~.~.~.~.~

**Ooo, intense-ness! And of course, I get another slap to the face. (-,-) I'm so so sososo soosofso os kofsko ksok okso sorry… But I promise I'm going to update soon. I can't tell you how much I missed this story. I really did, I just didn't think about it and it just sort of faded from my mind.**

**But it's back, and that's important right? **

**Review? **

**(If you can ever remember anything in this story o/o) **


	20. Sleepless Painting

**Hey everyone ! I'm ABSOLUTELY THRILLED at how many reviews I got! I think I got more reviews after being away for so long than I did when I actually wrote the story. Irony, that crazy guy. AT ANY RATE! Thank you all SO SO SO MUCH for still being there for me, and of course your bestest friends Rena/Watson/Adler/Mary/Holmes/Lestrade/Thompson (although I guess he's not a very good friend…)/etc.**

**RATE AND REVIEW ^^ Please.**

**Infinite X's and O's,**

**~mistro**

~.~.~.~.~.~

Sherlock Holmes. Face like a dead man's. Heart near it too. That was who was laying in front of me. A man in proximity to death. I had to admit it to myself instead of hiding from the truth. I had never been good with cases, or the lack of life I so often found in people these past few weeks. My eyes could no longer look away and my hands had to stop themselves from shaking. I couldn't hide what was clear before my eyes anymore. It was like the ghosts of that murky sewer had reached up tauntingly from the floor, grabbed my ankles and pulled me down with them. I felt light headed, but I managed to crawl my way over to him. "Holmes…" My voice shook. "You can't do this." My eyes scanned his face. When no response came, I fumbled to press my shaking fingers to his wrist. Gently, his pulse sang back to me. "Watson, you've got to do something." I whispered, still holding his hand.

Watson dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief, looking down in despair at his agonized friend. There was an unassailable look of insecurity painted on his face. "I would have to examine him in my lab. I don't even know what _kind _of poison it was."

"We can't take him back," Irene interjected. "At least, not leaving _him _down here." We all turned to see an unconscious Dr. Thompson slumped against a wall. His bleak brown coat and muddy tanned face blended in nicely with the wall behind him. In the back of my mind, I wanted to just leave him down here forever; alone with the rats like he belonged. "Besides, what about his friends? His pack of mutts?" Irene continued.

"They're not here," I responded. "I'm sure the director of the asylum has got them locked back up for the day. Holmes was his last… project." The words made a tight lump rise in my throat. I swallowed to keep sickness from coming up my throat. "I think he figured Thompson had it taken care of."

My heart ached. _Had it taken care of? _Holmes wasn't just a toy. He wasn't just something you could toss about and take advantage of. That's how things had happened though and it made me sick to think about. A feeling of regret came with these thoughts, too. I felt like I had used him. I led him on in the forest when I knew I would have to leave him.

I didn't want to leave him. My affinity for the slightly haughty, difficult and yet gifted detective would always be there no matter how hard I tried to fight it off.

"I'm not going to leave you now, at any rate," I muttered softly, brushing a strand of hair away from his shut eyelids. A silence filled the room. I hoped for a mere second that he would crack open his eyes, pop his pipe into his chapped lips and say something witty. Even if he had been faking it, I wouldn't have been mad. I just wanted to see him awake. "Watson," I mumbled, coming out of my thoughts. "You have to get him taken care of. Irene and I will manage to watch Dr. Thompson and get Lestrade to come here."

"No," Watson sighed. "You won't be able to handle him if he wakes up. I'll stay here. You and Irene will get a carriage. One of you will take him back to my office. Then, the other will get the police and bring them down here. Tell them we will explain further at another date, but just get them to take him away. I will follow you after the police have this taken care of." His eyes scanned ours wildly for a moment, making sure we got all of that information. We nodded silently, understanding the plan. "Go quickly and I will come." Watson said with a reassuring smile. "I don't want to be left down here when the doctor decides to wake up."

~.~.~.~.~

We couldn't go out the same way we had come in. Irene, unconscious Holmes, and I were left to ramble around to find a different exit. We were in the heart of the town, so it didn't take too long for us to find a light source. And it wouldn't take too long to find the police, either.

"One of us has to go up the ladder and then hand him to the other," Irene muttered as we looked pitifully at the barricade before us. "It will be a bit of a feat, but I'm sure we can do it." I looked at my diminutive arms, thinking quite the opposite. She noticed my concerned face instantly. "Alright,_ I'll_ hand him to you."

I didn't doubt her physical strength for a second. I spotted a few police men after reaching the top and they didn't fail to notice me coming up from the ground. I felt a fresh coat of sweat apply itself onto my face as they made their way over to me. "Miss?" One called out. "Where are you coming from?"

Irene heard him too. When I looked back down the chute, her eyes were just as wide as mine. "I… I know this all seems very odd," I stuttered. "But, I promise you that I _will _explain at a further moment after you help me get this man out."

The two cops looked down into the hole. They noticed Irene before Holmes, as expected, and tipped their hats politely. "That'd be very wonderful if you'd help us out," Irene said with her irresistible charm. "After all, I don't want to ruin my new dress too much further!" I could tell it was a flirtatious attempt for them to help us, but at the same time I was sure a part of that statement was honestly just Irene.

"Sure," one quickly responded out of fear of losing her favor. "Then one of you is going to have to tell us what's going on!"

I nodded. "We promise, so long as you help us."

We managed to successfully get Holmes out of there. A crowd was beginning to gather around us when they saw an unconscious and bloodied man lying on the streets. I heard a couple behind me gasp and voice their opinion. "I _knew_ those sewers were daunting places!"

Luckily, one of the police officers managed to get everyone out of the way and bring a carriage over to help us. "He looks in pretty bad shape," the man said after getting Holmes into the cart. "Wherever you take him, take him there quickly."

"That's where we need your help," Irene sighed. "The man who did this is waiting down in the sewers. Our friend John Watson is down there with him. The man is unconscious as well, but we were hoping you could lock him up regardless." It sounded vague, and the cops honestly didn't have much reason to trust us. To our surprise though, the opposite happened.

"Blimey!" One cop gasped. "I _knew_ the man looked familiar!" He nudged his friend, hoping he would pick up the hint. The other man stared at him in dull perplexity. "That was Sherlock Holmes, wasn't it?"

Not wanting to leave them with that image of Holmes, I proudly announced, "The greatest detective in all of Europe."

He nodded with a bright smile plastered on his face. "Of course we'll help you out! For a second I was worried, but I can see I was wrong to feel that way." He slapped his bewildered partner on the shoulder. "C'mon, let's go."

The two descended down the ladder steps until I could no longer see the tops of their hats. This was a city full of police and we managed to pick more of the duller bunch. I could breathe a sigh of relief knowing that soon Dr. Thompson would be locked behind bars. Something didn't seem right to me, though. I had never grown to like Dr. Thompson, yet Holmes seemed to have no problem with him. Why was that?

Irene and I were then left alone. She looked at me with worry etched across each one of her beautiful features. "We have to stay strong," I muttered. "Watson will be here soon."

I jumped as her fingers found my arms. I could feel her touch through my ragged fabric, but there was something more to it than skin. It was a feeling of passing on. The look she gave me said it all, as though she was hackneyed and drained. "I'm sorry," she whispered, speaking what didn't need to be said. "My thoughts were incessant about gaining something of what I once had." Her eyes darted towards the solemnly black carriage door before turning away. "Now I fear we _all_ might lose him."

"We're not going to lose him." My tone of certainty amazed me. "We're going to _save _Sherlock Holmes. We're going to save him or else the whole of London dies." My eyes itched, but I felt no tears. I knew I had to be right. After all, I was on a winning streak lately and this would be my final win. "He's saved us plenty of times. Now it's time for us to pay him back."

Irene smiled. The sun peeked through the grey clouds, offering us a chance of hope. The voices around us sounded happy, no one knowing of the heartache that waited inside our carriage. Irene sighed, lifting her face up lightly to the sun. "He is a pretty good detective, isn't he?"

"It's not quite like that," I said, pulling open the carriage door. "He's the best."

~.~.~.~.~.~

The ride was bumpy which did not help. We told the driver to make it speedy, however, and were grateful that he was making it happen. Irene's voluminous new dress took up most of the carriage, but on the plus side was a comforting blanket for Holmes. His chest continued to ooze out blood, and stain his shirt miserably. I winced as each time I looked more and more seemed to come. "Irene, there's… there's _so _much blood."

"You're right…" She said, leaning across the carriage. Her painted nails tugged open his stained red shirt, revealing the wound. I turned my head away as a unpleasant metallic odor filled my nose. "The cut doesn't even seem that deep." She dropped his shirt, falling back onto her seat in puzzlement. "We'll have to mention that to Watson."

I nodded my head, pressing Holmes a bit closer to me despite the smell. "It frightens me," I whispered, redirecting my gaze towards the curtained window. Irene heard me, but said nothing. We may not have been doctors, but we both knew when _too_ much blood was leaving the body.

I felt the carriage pull to a stop before the young driver pulled back the doors. Clear disgust was shown on his face as he turned his face away from us. "If he stained the seats, I'll be back in a week to collect payment."

Irene was already halfway out of the carriage when she turned around towards the boy, sending him a sharp smack to the cheek. He looked at her in bafflement, grabbing his puffy face. I smiled, despite the situation. "You ought to have manners," Irene grunted. "If your dead wife was lying in the back of my carriage, I certainly wouldn't have the guts to talk about her overflowing blood." The boy's cheeks became flushed once more, but this time from clear embarrassment. "You won't be getting _any _payment." She grabbed Holmes's arms, as I grabbed his legs, and we both headed inside of the St. Bart's hospital. The boy tipped his hat past his eyes, quickly rushing away on his carriage. I smiled towards Irene, but she couldn't stop her disappointment from showing. "You would honestly expect the people of London to be a bit more civil."

"Is it better in America?"

"America?" Irene laughed, shaking her head. "Of course not. Opulence to us means slaves."

It wasn't exactly the answer I was looking for, but I took it anyways. Even though all of the cases I'd done were in my own city, I knew justice was lacked in the world.

We continued down the halls, grateful that not many people were there on a Wednesday. Luckily for us, we'd been working with Watson enough to know where he set up his lab, and we took Holmes there quickly, a trail of blood drips lining our way. "Is it getting on your hands?" Irene asked, kicking Watson's door open with her leather boots. I glanced down at my red-stained fingers and nodded. I wasn't really bothered by it, knowing I was carrying Holmes to safety.

We managed to set him on a table, his body clinking against the metal when we set him down. Irene instantly rushed to a water basin to wipe the blood from her hands. "Good God, it looks like I've murdered someone." She uttered in disgust, sloshing water on herself hurriedly. On the other hand, I couldn't seem to move. My eyes looked blankly at Holmes as he lay stretched across the examination table. He looked lifeless and pale as the color continued to drain from his face. I hated seeing him like this; a research project for a scientist.

I could feel his own blood dripping off the tips of my fingers. Anyone else would have been bothered by that, but I clenched my fists tightly, trying to hold it all back in. I didn't want to lose any part of him. Even if it meant his blood.

"Oh, Renadale…" Irene moaned. "You really must wash your hands. That's very unhealthy."

She was right of course and eventually I made my way over to the water. Slowly, I dipped my hands in its already pink surface, enjoying the cool feeling against my skin. As I scrubbed away someone else's story from my fingertips, I realized that Holmes needed a bit of cleaning up himself. I grabbed the cleanest rag from the bunch, dipped it in some clearer water and took it over to Holmes. Gently, I brushed his hair away from his face and dabbed away all of the dirt. It took a while to clear up his face, but once I was done, he looked better for it. I was probably just tired, but I thought I might have seen a smile.

"I'm here!" Watson shouted breathlessly as he burst into the room. He flung his tattered trench coat off towards the rack, missing it completely. He took no notice as he stepped over Holmes and stared down at him quizzically. "He's bleeding horribly." That statement could have made me sing.

"Far too much," Irene agreed, also glad that he had noticed.

"No, no, that's not right." Watson grabbed a pointed tool of some sort, the name of which I would have no idea, and opened Holmes's shirt. He started poking a bit at his cut skin. I could sense that feeling of bile rising in my throat, but I stopped myself and attempted to look at it as… science. "No one with that _shallow _of a cut should be bleeding so much. There's something else playing into it."

He walked swiftly over to a table, squeezing into a pair of gloves before ripping off his vest as well. Apparently everyone was worried about their clothes today.

"It's got to be the poison," Watson mumbled, taking a blood sample from Holmes. "Whatever kind of poison that is, is making his blood concentration considerably high." Irene watched in amazement as he poked around under a telescope, rushing from side to side of the room, his mind working quicker than it ever did on cases. Watson obviously knew his calling. "Of course, of course…" He finally muttered after aching minutes of curiosity.

"What is it?" Irene said, stepping over and looking down at Holmes.

"Thallium," Watson grumbled, obvious disappointment in his voice.

I had heard the name before, but I honestly knew nothing about it. At the sound of it, my stomach managed to cringe. I suppose I did know one thing about it. It was poisonous. "Does it have an odor? Is that what's making it smell?"

Watson shook his head, laughing darkly. "No, no, it's completely odorless. What you smell is pure human blood."

"Oh…" I slowly began to sit down as my head felt heavier than before. "Right…"

Watson worked in silence for a while, examining blood type after blood type and rushing back and forth from Holmes to his equipment. "If this is really Thallium, which I'm nearly _positive _it is, then there's one thing I know will help it." I could have cried in joy. I did not think _any_ poison had a cure. The sound of his hope in turn made_ me_ hopeful, and I waited to hear his continuation. "We need Prussian blue."

Irene's brows shot up in amusement. "That's a coat company."

Watson chuckled, wiping his bloodied tool on the back of a cloth. "That may be so, but it also helps dispose of Thallium. It was made in Berlin around 1705…It's a pigment. Many people use it in paintings…" His trailed off as other, more important thoughts, preoccupied his mind. "I know of a scientist who has the capsules, but the only issue is…"

"He's not here," Irene guessed. Unfortunately it was a correct guess.

"However, there could be many painters in London with it." His eyes met mine quickly as though I might no someone with it. "Is there anyone we could get in contact with? A painter? They could have tablets of Prussian blue."

I stumbled over my own words, stuttering in disbelief. "I… I don't think I know anyone… Before I met Holmes, I barely left my house…"

"Of course I know some people," Irene said proudly. She wrapped her cold fingers around mine, pulling me towards the door. "They will be more than happy to cooperate, I'm sure." She pulled open the door, tossing Watson one last look before we left. "Keep him alive for another twenty minutes."

Watson winced, but nodded, surely feeling a bit pressured by that sendoff.

"Where are we going?" I asked as Irene pulled me swiftly down the hall. She obviously knew someone, but whom? "Will I know them?"

"Of course you will," Irene laughed. "We're going to see Edward's mother."


	21. Reunion of the Lovebirds

**Hello again! I wanted to update now because I won't be able to update for QUITE a while, because I am going to the international Thespian Festival in Nebraska for a week and won't have my computer! So, I hope you all like this chapter.**

**AND GUESS WHAT? NO CLIFFIE! **

**Or am I a liar? I'm pleased to see I'm putting a lot of you on the edge however. :] **

**Please Rate & Review! AND I AM SO PUMPED FOR SHERLOCK 2! Check it out on IMDB, there's new pics. :] And our main man is looking oh-so-lovely.**

**Infinite X's and O's,**

**~mistro!~**

~.~.~.~.~

The nervous beads of sweat held mine and Irene's hands together. I could tell by the way she gripped my fingers around hers that she was frightened. Oh, she was frightened to the core. She was a world class criminal; a woman who left man after man for riches. Yet, there was a secret place in her heart for someone. That someone was undoubtedly Sherlock Holmes, and seeing him at his weakest obviously caused her great distress.

As we bolted out of Watson's lab, and down the corridors we had entered, Irene's pace quickened to no end. Her last words rang through my head and I wondered what on Earth Edward's mother had to do with anything. If she didn't seem so on edge, I might have asked. I was worried for her sake and decided to give it at least a minute or two.

I could feel myself physically calming down in the midst of the situation. I knew that things were getting more intense, but my nerves dropped significantly at the sound of a possible cure for Holmes. Watson always seemed to know what he was doing, even if he did bicker with Holmes every other sentence. His reputation had been cleared since the Blackwood case and I vowed to trust Watson with not just my life, but certainly Holmes's as well. He cared about Holmes just as much as Irene and I. Perhaps more. Any man who say them would not doubt that their bond was tighter than blood.

Overall, I couldn't stop thinking about _why_ we would be seeing Mrs. Brettingham, and how Irene just _knew_ that we should. I wasn't sure how much time we had, but I didn't want to waste any by stopping her to ask questions.

"Irene," I said wryly. She glanced backwards a bit to meet my gaze, but her look only held anxiety as we stepped out into the streets. "I know we have to get there quickly, but why are we going _there_? What does Edward have to do with this?"

The muggy London air surrounded us, sending Irene into a fit of coughing. She batted smoke away from her painted face and gripped my hand tighter. My question added more stress to the situation; that was quite clear. "It's got nothing to do with Edward," she said as she sprinted across the street to beat a Moriah carriage. "It's his mother. She's a painter, or didn't you know?"

In fact, I didn't know. I had briefly noticed the splendor of their home, but never had I assumed that any of the art was from her own hands. My stomach twisted at my lack of knowledge, sending my ego into a frenzy. My mother was Mrs. Brettingham's close friend and I had known so little about Edward and his family. I was so bitter about his passing, but I never even got the chance to get to know him. "I… didn't know," I mumbled, seemingly to myself.

Irene never let go as we trudged through the muddy roads, thick brown goo covering the tips of our boots. Irene's chunky male shoes were stained now, with the memory of a day that she would probably rather forget. At least it wasn't her own shoes that were getting dirty. I could tell she cared less at the moment. Holmes's safety was key, or else it was safe to say that London was doomed. As well as the one thing she liked to hold onto.

We continued down the crowded streets as they practically ate us alive with their gossip and their shouting. Irene looked disgusted at the place, while I managed to calm my wracking head. I didn't do well in crowds or social gatherings. That was why I liked my roof and my private rooms. I shut my eyes tightly as to block out the noise and the view of all the people. It was my turn to tighten my grip.

"We're nearly there," she said, not stopping. "Open your eyes, Rena. I don't want you to trip up the staircase." Waston was normally the only one who called me Rena, but hearing it from her voice did not upset me. It made me more relaxed and I followed her orders calmly.

My eyes cracked open, staring down at the taunting marble stairs beneath my feet. I remembered them from the first time I came for the party. I also remembered looking at them out of the window when Holmes and I went to check on Edward. I remembered watching him proceed up the steps and then stop at the door only to turn around and walk back into the carriage. He cradled my crying body because we both knew it was too late. Those stairs held special memories for me, along with other spots in London. All thanks to Sherlock Holmes.

Irene didn't even wait for a knock, but rather kicked the door open with her muddy boot and waltzed right on in. Finally, our grip broke as her anxious eyes scanned the empty parlor. "Mrs. Brettingham?" She called out. Her words eerily echoed off the high walls. I stared at the paintings around me of oceans and birds, beautiful scenes clearly etched with the same blue paint. They matched the grey tone on the walls, the dreariness spilling into the atmosphere. Irene was unsteady now, pacing from room to room in order to find her. "I know she's here," Irene muttered. "She's got to be hiding around her somewhere."

Irene disappeared, leaving me alone in the unlit lobby. I looked at the staircase in front of me, much less grand than the marble one outside. I thought of the moment when I first climbed up it, and then shoved the thought aside. Edward wasn't upstairs at the piano anymore. Edward was gone, his memory urging me to finish this case. I just knew I couldn't do it without Holmes.

"Don't drag me out of my own bed!" I heard a cry from down the hall. My ears perked up. At the sight of Mrs. Brettingham, I realized being lady-like was not all that important. Her slumped eyelids and her tousled hair showed her lack of energy. Her nightgown also suggested that she hadn't moved from her bed for quite some time. Irene held her by the upper arm, her intention serious. Mrs. Brettingham stared at me with fearful eyes. "What's she doing in my house?"

I was taken aback by the phrase, as she had just recently allowed me to speak at her son's funeral. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Brettingham…" I muttered. "We didn't mean to startle you."

"We need Prussian blue," Irene said matter-of-factly. "Now. I know it seems rather rude of us coming in here, but this is a matter of urgency. It involves Sherlock Holmes's safety."

She looked at Irene in disbelief, as though astounded by her lack of manners. "Neither of you saved my son," she spat, tears threatening to spill from her sleepless eyes. "Why on Earth should I help you now?"

"Because we tried," Irene said, releasing her grip on the old woman. "We tried, and that's more than you can give anyone else credit for." There was a momentary pause before Irene realized her harsh words were not enough. "You should help us, because you'd be helping Edward. Your son wouldn't have wanted to die in vain and Sherlock Holmes is the only man who can set things straight."

The woman sadly dropped her head. We all knew it was the truth. Holmes had solved that Edward was the next victim before anyone. We had just been too late. It had happened before, and it wasn't intentional that it happened to Edward.

"Irene, she's right. She can't give us credit for trying. We might have tried to save her son, but one person succeeded. That one person being Sherlock Holmes." Slowly, Ellen raised her tear-stained face to me. "The man who tried to save your son could be… gone…very soon, if you don't help us now." My throat began to close as I spoke. My stomach churned in unison. The thought of Holmes being gone wasn't something that my mind could process. I would fight against it.

"I know it," Ellen Brettingham stuttered. "I-I know he tried to save my boy, but he didn't. Edward's sister is all I have left and she's gone and left me for some foreign man." More and more tears began to fall. It wasn't that Irene and I didn't have sympathy, but we literally didn't have time. My fingers were tapping against my ragged dress quickly, the tension spilling out from my eyes.

"Please, we're asking you agreeably now for the Prussian blue," Irene nudged the woman, hoping to get her to snap out of her phase. "And if you don't…" Irene sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Then I'll have to ask you, _not_ so agreeably."

"I would listen to her." Irene's dodgy past was clear if you just looked into her face. I tried my hardest to encourage Ellen. "She's… certainly not kidding."

Ellen only needed to look once at Irene to know that she was in all seriousness. Irene's dark eyes flashed behind her equally dark makeup. A playful smirk slid across those amber lips, taunting and terrifying. Ellen nodded quickly. "Alright. You can have my Prussian blue."

~.~.~.~.~

Irene managed to take all of the Prussian blue Ellen possessed. It spilled from her hands as we dashed along the cobblestone streets and mine as well. I don't think I had run faster in my entire life. My breath was unable to catch up with my legs, and I thought it might be the end of me. One thing kept me going though; the thought of those huge brown eyes cracking open. That scrunched look of disapproval. Those words; "Watson… Where's my pipe?" Anything. Any sign of life would be worth a hundred laps around London.

Irene nearly dropped the container of Prussian blue every step of the way, but fumbled with them in her hands until she was laughing. "These damn things are so slippery! I don't understand how Holmes has about five hundred of them in his room! And how he manages to use each one with a purpose…" I could tell by her laughter that hope was on the rise. Things were looking positive now. The thought of it made me hold on even tighter to even glass of blue ink I held.

We reached Watson's lab in no time, pushing our way through crowds, our insoluble smiles clearing the paths. Watson was surprised to see us back to soon as we flung open the door, tossing all of our glasses onto a nearby table. Watson looked back and forth from us to the ink, a quick smile breaking free on his face. "Let's begin, then!" He clasped his hands readily together.

Irene and I grinned at one another, ready to help in any way we could. Watson was not at all in a tense mood, showing that we had been expedient and safe about things. "The first thing he needs is to be administered oxygen," Watson mumbled, looking around the musty room. He stepped over to the large wooden windows, pulling them open. "I realize it's a busy day and things may get loud, but fresh air will do us all some good."

A sigh of relief escaped my lips as the soothing wind brushed against my cheek and pulled the hair away from my eyes. I had a better vision of Holmes from my spot near the window. His face looked calm, but less peaceful than… well, _at_ peace. That was a good thing.

"I need to gain intravenous access to the poison. It was administered through his mouth, but it's escaping through his blood from the wound…" Watson's eyes darted quickly from Holmes to us. "Ladies, just a warning, but contaminated clothing must come off."

My cheeks instantly began to burn and I felt my body tense up. Irene noticed my stature and merely chuckled, brushing off the situation like it was nothing. "So, do it," she mocked with a playful grin.

Watson tugged off Holmes's white shirt, his vest and jacket already gone when we saw him in the sewer. "It's alright, mate," Watson muttered to his unconscious partner. "You can always just steal my clothes when we get back." I looked at Sherlock's cut up torso, surprised to see such a well built body weakened. The poison had really gotten through the wounds, blood turning his already tanned body, red.

Watson ripped off his belt and I found my head turn instantly away. Irene patted my shoulder lightly as my heart started beating inside of my head. I shut my eyes, not wanting to see Holmes being treated this way when he had no say in the matter. That may have been the reason… or, I was horribly embarrassed for myself. "Alright, don't worry. There are no wounds past his torso. It's good for him to keep a protective layering on as well. The pants will stay on, ladies."

Irene snickered, sitting down casually on the window sill. "How boring."

Watson stayed quiet for a long time after that. He was focused in his work, down to the very core. I watched him carefully in his movements. He took blood samples and mixed the poison with the Prussian blue. We had clearly brought more than needed, but at least we didn't bring less. Watson was so gentle and precise with his work that it was almost like an art form. I understood how Mary loved him. There was nothing not to love. I smiled, pleased that he was my companion. I was pleased that he did not judge me as others did, but rather opened his mind and feelings up to me when he really didn't have to. Watson was a good man, one sensible enough for me to talk to when Holmes was not. He was a man who would do anything in the world for his partner, though he may not wish to admit it aloud. Holmes clearly needed him too.

"Is there charcoal in that drawer, Rena?" Watson asked, his gloved fingers still poking around a potion he stirred up for Holmes. I glanced at the drawer next to me and pulled it open. Sure enough, charcoal sat neatly in a bag on top. "If you could bring it here..." As I handed him the black chalk, he quietly began to explain. "If the patient consumed the poison in less than an hour, it should be mixed in with the antidote. I firmly believe that the thallium hadn't been in Holmes's body for too long before we found him, or else he'd be..." Watson stopped, shaking his head.

I marveled at how Watson just knew these things. It was all out of the gift of studying. I smiled to myself, wishing I could have attended college. Wouldn't that be a thought? A woman, attending a college... and for engineering none the less! If I would have said that, Irene and Watson both would have laughed for a long while. Ah, well. At least I had my bedroom workshop.

After another ten minutes or so, Watson held up what seemed to be a capsule. "This is going to cure Holmes," Watson muttered, his tone not entirely stable. "It will send the thallium away from his intestines, thereby protecting his organs and tissues and removing the poison through his… stools."

Irene and I slowly looked at each other in slight disgust. "Will he be… awake for that process?" Irene muttered, scrunching her nose.

Watson sighed, rubbing his head. "Well… I'm not quite sure. He should be awake with a bit of sunlight and fresh air. Thallium _does _attack the system, but it doesn't always knock one out. I wouldn't be surprised if he woke up when I shoved this in his mouth." Watson slowly stepped over to Holmes, who was breathing slightly more now that the window was cracked open. London air wasn't clean, but it was much better than sewer air. My heart was beating faster as Watson's gloved finger cracked open Holmes's mouth, ready to drop the tablets in.

"Erm…" A voice rang out.

Irene and I's heads snapped up, recognizing that familiar grunt.

"Watson…" The mumbled voice continued. "Why… are your filthy fingers against my lips?"

"Aha!" John burst out, stepping back in disbelief. "That's it? That's all it needed to wake you up! A little bit of unhygienic ways!" Watson slapped his weak friend on the shoulder, obviously too caught up in the moment to realize that Holmes was still in pain. "Well, that's perfect, because I was struggling with how I was going to get this in your throat!" He tossed the capsules in his hand, grinning wildly that he had succeeded. "It's unlike you to be turned off by lack of hygiene, but at least it woke you up."

Holmes's eyes were still shut, but he managed to grunt again in discomfort. "Watson, you're not putting anything in my throat. I can manage."

"Oh really? Then why don't you open your eyes for me."

"I'm afraid I'm quite weak at the moment."

"Which is exactly why I need to give you this medicine."

"I still don't know if I approve of you touc-" Watson rolled his eyes in annoyance, stopping Holmes short with tugging open of his mouth. He slipped the capsule inside, closing it shut with his hands tightly. No matter how strong Holmes's jaw was, he would not be able to open his mouth.

"Chew," Watson ordered. "It'll taste good. Like metal."

Irene laughed, shaking her head back and forth. "Already bickering. Typical love birds."

After moments of unpleasant chewing, Holmes finally managed to gasp in disgust. "Water, Watson. Was that Irene? It doesn't matter. Get me water." Watson rolled his eyes once again, handing his friend a glass of the cool liquid. Clumsily, Holmes held the cup in his hands, dumping it on his open mouth, splashing water across his face.

"Here…" I said quietly, though I was still in a trance of seeing him awake. "Let me help you." The room froze as I stood up from my seat. Holmes _still _hadn't opened his eyes. He knew it was me coming over to treat him. I could tell because of the silence in his breathing. I plucked the cup from his hands, careful not to touch his own fingers in fear that my heart might burst at his touch. "Open your mouth," I said softly, pouring drops of water into it; a cascading waterfall for a sick man.

After the water was gone, Holmes carefully shut his chapped lips. "Miss Adkins…" His voice was soft and alluring. The sound of his words rang through my head, making me lightheaded with exhilaration. I loved hearing my name in his voice. I didn't care that he didn't say Renadale. I was just glad he said something. Something directed towards _me_.

I didn't think I could have been any happier, until his eyelids suddenly found themselves opening. They started slowly at first until they were open all the way, staring endlessly at the wooden ceiling above him. He could have said something first, but I couldn't wait. The moment was torturing to me and I couldn't hold myself back. I couldn't stifle the jovial laugh that escaped my lips. I grabbed Holmes's unmoving hand in my own. Quickly, my lips met his soft, brown hair, and I shut my eyes in a sweet rapture. "I'm so glad you're awake," I whispered, unable to suppress my bliss. "Sherlock Holmes, I am _so_ thankful you are awake."

Sherlock seemed to be in a trance since the utterance of my words. He twitched a bit, startled by my intimate welcoming. He could have been uncomfortable or angry with my actions, but I honestly didn't care. Nothing he would say or do would stop my happiness. I knew that he would continue to be sick for a few hours, and not in the most pleasant of ways, but to be with him for only a moment was a gift that I needed.

"I hate to break up the reunions, ladies, but… I'm afraid Holmes does need a good washing up." Watson said with a light smile. "Something I'd prefer he did on his own, as to keep his blood away from the rest of us."

"Are you suggesting I'm contaminated, Watson?" Holmes said bitterly. I went to pull away from him, heading towards to door for his own privacy but he subtly held my hand in his, pulling me back towards him. "Didn't you cure me?"

"Of course," Watson said, rolling his eyes. "I would go to the ends of the _world_ for you."

"Most intriguing. And if you did, would you mind staying there?"

"Oh, very clever-"

"Alright," Irene said, taking my other hand and pulling me towards the door. Reluctantly, I let go of Holmes's grip and followed her. "You two lovebirds get washed up and we'll patiently wait outside to listen to you bicker once again, hm?"

She pulled me out of the room before I had a final word. After she had shut the door she took my bewildered face in her hands, looked me over, and gave me a tight hug. "It's a goodbye gift," she smiled softly. "Since you never let me buy you that hat."

"A goodbye gift…?" I mumbled. "What do you mean?"

She didn't need to explain. Irene came and went as she pleased, both of them when least expected. Her eyes held lingering sadness for the one thing she wanted, but missed out on yet again. The man. The only one she could think of as feeling a real emotion for seemed far from her grasp this time. She would return, that was inevitable. At that moment, she was making a parting of the ways and handing her trust over to me. I could tell all of this with one look. I hoped she could see in my gaze that I understand what she was telling me. I hoped she knew that I was sorry and that I did respect (and fear) her with the utmost honesty. I dropped my head for a moment, struggling to find the right parting words.

"Don't think of anything too sad now, Renadale…" She muttered with her infamous smile. "We'll meet each other again. I don't think it will take very long." That should have bothered me, but it didn't. Irene Adler was beginning to grow on me and another meeting seemed well in order. "Just… tell Holmes to be careful about where he leaves his things." She carefully pulled back the chain of her necklace, revealing a large sapphire on her neck. I recognized the stone from one of Sherlock's cabinets. She smirked, tucking it back in her dress. "If he asks, I took it as a souvenir."

She smiled at me once more before turning on her heels in the opposite direction. Something troubled me about her leaving, like it wasn't what anyone wanted. "Irene, wait!" I called out, stopping her in her tracks. "He won't want you to leave." My words surprised her, but there was solace in them. "I know he won't. You've been so helpful. He'd at least want you to wait to see this case finished though."

"It _is_ finished…" She mumbled quietly, still not turning around. "He knows what he's doing now... and not just with the case." I could almost see the smile through the back of her head. "But, ta-ta anyway, darling." She flicked her wrist in the air, sending me a final wave. "It won't be long."


	22. A New Perspective

**Hello everyone! Sorry for the wee bit of a wait. I'm currently in Germany, hanging out in my bedroom, typing this story. :] Not much is going to happen in this chapter, which is odd, because I expect it to be rather long. So… expect a lot of Renadale thoughts coming through. Hope this doesn't upset anyone too much. ;]**

** And welcome back! I've seen some reviews that I haven't heard from for quite some time! (KAZZ.) PLEASE REVIEW! Actually, as greedy as this sounds- I REALLY WANT TO GET 400 REVIEWS BEFORE THE STORY IS OVER.**

** Okay, thanks, enjoy the show dolls. :]**

**Infinite X's and O's,**

**~Mistro**

~.~.~.~.~

My life is like a river. It's murky most of the time. You can't really see inside of it, and often you probably don't want to. It moves quickly. It's narrow and curved; not always quite sure of where it's going next. However, when the river is clear, sometimes it's a beautiful sight to see.

The moment Sherlock Holmes had opened his eyes, my river had cleared up. Fish of rainbow colors could be seen swimming through the cool, undaunted water. Beautiful leaves and flowers would blow with the wind, only to land in my splitting waves. There was a sort of blissful feeling in my soul, even though I knew things weren't over with the case.

I stood outside of Watson's office. I was now left alone and slightly confused. Irene's disappearance was a bit unexpected, but I knew her words would not be altered. We would meet again soon. She was certain of it and I was untroubled by that.

My aching back rested itself against the frame of Watson's door. I let my head fall slowly back, allowing myself to shut my tired eyes with a sigh of content. There was a curious grin that never parted from my face. I laughed softly to myself, swaying in my spot. A song was ringing through my head and I hummed it quietly to myself. The song was unfamiliar to me, but I sang it with ease. I was infinitely happy, even if it was just for the time being.

I clicked my heels together as I waited for Watson and Holmes inside the room. I could hear them through the door, eavesdropping every chance I could for the sound of his voice. They of course were bickering, but in that sweet nature that any woman would find charming.

"That water is cold, Watson. I specifically asked for _luke warm _water."

"Holmes, when have you ever even _asked _for bath water?" There was no reply. "Yes, exactly my point… You're a pathetic excuse for a detective."

"And you a doctor. I should be kept clean. I should be hygienic. You live in the same house as me, and yet you allow me to keep myself in this fashion."

"Merely because I try not to remind myself that you're even _in my life_."

Finally, I couldn't suppress my laughter anymore and I knocked on the door lightly. "Gentlemen!" I called out to them. "Play nicely, now. Remember, there are still ladies present." I think they must have forgotten about me and Irene, because there was a long uncomfortable silence.

"Ah, yes, Miss Adkins… We apologize." There was a pause. "Well, _I _apologize on both of our behalves, as Watson is preoccupied with something else."

"What?" Watson mumbled, hearing his name.

"Miss Adkins called out to us. You were busy. I answered for you."

"Oh, I do apologize, Rena!" Watson laughed, raising his voice for me to hear. "I was cleaning out Holmes's undergar- Ouch! What was that for? Why did you just hit me? Why do you always seem to hit me for no apparent reason?"

"You don't need to explain every detail of what you're doing, my _dearest _Watson," Holmes cursed lowly, but loud enough for my ears to catch.

"Erm… Right…" Watson chuckled awkwardly. "Never mind then, Rena! You two just stay put. Or, perhaps take a stroll through town. We may be a while as Holmes is rather filthy, and my office is contaminated with quite a bit of blood."

A stroll through town? I allowed the thought to be considered briefly in my mind. I did feel rather uncomfortable, knowing that I was alone now. They however, did not know my present situation. I did not care to break the news through the door that Irene had left. And, being uncomfortable in most social situations, I did not care to venture into town alone. "That's all very well, and I thank you." I answered calmly. "But, I think I shall wait out here."

"And what of Miss Adler?" Holmes cried out, curiously. "The devil's awfully quiet."

I said nothing. They soon lost interest however and I quietly planted myself on the floor. This was followed by another heavy sigh as I rested by head back on the door. This time, I was not sighing from ease, but because I felt washed up. My river-like life decided to send me back to shore, tired and dried out. I allowed myself to rest my black-circled eyes for a few minutes, the silence of the laboratory halls strangely peaceful.

Holmes muttered from behind the door. I heard a splash of water, followed by a struggle. "Holmes, you're still not well. You shouldn't be moving quite so quickly." I crunched my brows together, curious as to what was happening inside. There were no voices from then on, only quick moving and shuffling. "Holmes, wait a second!" Watson grunted. "Wait-"

Now it was my turn to be surprised. I heard the creak of the door open before I felt the impact of it. I cried out as my body was sent flying backwards. My head hit the ground with a thud as pain shot up my spine. I lied silently on my back on Watson's filthy floor, my eyes sewn shut with stitches of pain. "Hello to you too," I managed to squeeze out.

"Brilliant!" Watson laughed, although not heartily. "Now I have to address Rena's wounds as well." Before I could respond, a warm hand slid itself behind my head. I recognized the touch to be Watson's as he helped me sit up straight. "Up you go. Don't stand up too fast."

"It would have been better if your floors weren't concrete…" My whisper was silent as I rubbed my head carefully.

There was a moment's hesitation before anyone spoke. My torso eventually straightened itself out and my eyes stared forward at the empty hallway. Watson and I presumed Holmes, stood behind me. "I apologize Miss Adkins," I heard Holmes spit out after too long of a pause. "That was entirely my doing. I did not expect you to be leaning upon the door. Now, however, it is duly noted that you lean against entrance ways, and it shall be taken with much more consideration in the future."

I was motionless as I let the sound of his voice seep into my head. I shut my eyes, glad that he prepared a little speech for me to listen to. I had already forgotten about my pain. His voice was as much of a remedy as I needed. Courage was bottling up inside of me as I listened to him. I wanted to be with him for a while. Alone. He was still talking when I finally decided that I couldn't wait any longer. "Can I speak with you?" I interrupted.

There was shuffling once again behind me. Then I heard the door shut. I knew that for the first time in a long time, Holmes and I were left alone. The walls around me were grey and old with rocks crumbling off from it. I stared at it blankly for a while, trying to think of what to say. Luckily, I didn't have to.

"I realize this may not be the proper question for this moment, or perhaps an unsettling one for you to share, but I'm rather curious…" Holmes mumbled in a deep voice. "Where is Miss Adler?"

I should have seen that one coming.

"She… left…" I said slowly, raising my brows. "She did say that she would return soon. And I believe-" I was going to spill the beans about her stealing his gem, but decided that was a girl secret between the two of us and I held my tongue. I'd never had a girl friend before. It was nice to have someone to share secrets with for once. Someone who _wasn't_ a hired detective. "I believe she will keep to her word."

Holmes managed to muster up a mere; "Aha." Once again we froze in silence. I believe each of us expected the other to ignite the conversation, to burn the flame, but neither of us seemed up to it. I was about to get up and walk out due to self consciousness when suddenly a dirty hand appeared in the corner of my eye. "I apologize once again," Holmes said softly, his voice even closer to my ear this time. "I should have offered you this earlier."

My chest pounded as I stared down at his pastoral fingertips. Memories filled my brain of all the times I held them in my own fingers. I remembered instantly all of the times that I had _wished_ I was holding them, and longed for them more than anything. I finally had the opportunity, but it seemed too wonderful to be true. I had just watched him nearly die, yet I was afraid to hold his warm hand.

Why do we do that to ourselves? Why do we hesitate with the one thing we want most?

"Miss Adkins…" Holmes said even softer, extending his hand a bit further.

Tears flooded the edges of my eyes. My heart was beating so fast that I could barely keep up with my breath. I guess my tears must have been jealous of my blood too, as they struggled to gain their composure. I bit my lip as hard as I could, hoping to sustain them for just a few minutes longer. "Yes," I said quietly, slipping my shaking hands in his. "Sorry."

Trying my best to stay composed, I hauled myself off of the cold ground. Our hands were still intertwined, but I couldn't bring myself to turn around. My dirty dress was embarrassing. My disheveled hair was a clear sign of stupor, and my eyes must have been as sunken as a ship wreck. Not to mention, I was sniveling like a child. "This might be too much of a suggestion…" I heard his raspy, unwell voice say behind me. "Yet, I would… Well, that is, I wouldn't mind certainly if… Miss Adkins, if it is not too much of a problem... Of course, that is your decision of whether it is or not. I would very much like to have to chance for you to… Well, to turn around." This was much too long of a sentence for one request, as you may have noticed. I had to give him something. I had to let him know that my feelings for him were not yet vanished, though I was confused. I couldn't _not _face him. After all, he was still my boss.

I managed to spin around on my heels with my head still dropped. My body racked, my bones swaying nervously back and forth inside my skin. I could feel my long, brown curls brushing against my face, hiding my expression. Out of habit, I squeezed his hand harder for comfort.

"Miss Adkins…" I heard him mumble with clear distress. I said nothing. My eyes flashed upwards for a moment, bravery to look at him suddenly entering my soul. However, my hair was blocking my view and I didn't have the power to push it away.

I was beginning to feel as though my knees would collapse, until something very light brushed against my face. I looked up once again, surprised by the unexpected sensation. Once again, that feeling. I knew what it was this time. Holmes's fingers were slowly peeling back strands of hair away from my face. They grabbed each strand slowly, tucking it behind my ear and locking it in place. Moments later, the hair was cleared from my face and my eyes were visible.

"You're… You're not very good at emotionally handling cases, are you?" Holmes was unable to resist a small smirk. He let his hand fall from my hair, as well as my other hand. I was surprised by his intimacy moments ago, but of course it did not last long. "You seem to crack in the middle of them. However, I suppose I have little room to speak." I said nothing. I looked up at him, still biting my lip to try and hold back my tears. "You also don't seem to understand your impact... Stop looking at me," he ordered. "It's intimidating." I once again felt self conscious of my emerald eyes.

"How could I ever intimidate a man like you?"

It was his turn to drop his head. He became secluded within himself; a hidden look of shame drawn out on his face. "I am not as dignified as you may suspect, Miss Adkins. Clearly, you were the one who had to rescue me. If you hadn't, I would be dead right now. And on top of it, dead in a sewer." The dark thought seemed to haunt him, as his face sunk in disapproval. "That wasn't exactly the way I had planned things out, but on that note… I had hoped to at least calm you…" His voice faded out as his eyes seemed to look somewhere far past the basis of reality. He trapped himself in a memory for a moment, his openly visible chest heaving. His matted, wet hair hung damply in front of his face. Now it was my turn to take care of him, as I was actually paid to do.

"Come here," I mumbled, stepping closer to him. "You're the one who needs to be calmed." My fingers brushed back the hair from his forehead, pushing it over to the side. A smile broke out onto my face as I got a better look at him. I was very fond of his side-parted, raven-like hair. "I'm not sure if I ever told you, but I rather fancy this mop of a head you have."

"Fancy?" He said with his tone a bit lighter. "Most engaging. I never thought much of it." I smiled, allowing myself to stop brushing it. He raised his brows momentarily, his chocolate eyes wider than a dog's. "It's all yours," he said softly. "If you like."

As much as I wanted to say 'Yes!' to that suggestion, I found my entire body pulling away from him. Even though she wasn't there, her image was present in my mind. "Holmes, I already told you my intentions…" I muttered softly.

Holmes openly cringed. His cheeks flushed in antagonism. "You mean… you still mean to leave?"

"It's not you," I attempted to reassure. "We all agreed that being a detective is not my forte. I am much too weak. I am unstable and I am a hindrance on most occasions."

"_We all agree_? I don't ever remember agreeing to any statement that even partially resonated your just-spoken words."

"I don't mean to disappoint you," I continued. "I'm just sorry that I must. I honestly had no intention of it, and with all consideration, I do think it's for the better if I leave your company all together."

Sherlock's eyes did not hold that same sweetness that they had moments ago. They were cold and they chilled me to the bone. "Does Miss Adler play a part in this decision?" His words were like daggers. I think I would have chosen daggers over that glare.

I shook my head. "No. Do not speak badly on her part. I have come to adore her." I did admire her, but I lied when I said she played no part in my choice. She played a significant role. She was a devious woman no doubt, but I could not take away the one thing she had affection for. I was not that kind of woman.

"Admire her?" Holmes raised a quizzical brow. "That response was unexpected, but the other was not. I still do not believe you."

"Believe me," I tried to say with strength in my voice. I failed, as my tone wobbled unsteadily. The more I tried to resist him, the less I wanted to. He stared at me for a long while after that. Neither of us moved. Trickles of sunlight dropped through a window down the hall, illuminating one side of his clearly miserable face. My fingers twisted themselves around one another nervously until I could not stand the silence anymore. "Please don't look at me like that."

"Then believe what I say to you. You have never been an issue on these cases. In certain forms, I suppose you have been, but not in the way you think."

My eyes shot up quickly. Did he just contradict himself? "Do you see?" I laughed. "You just opposed arguments in the same sentence. You are so unsteady of my being here with you on this case that you cannot even think clearly. That is why I thought it best to leave."

"Yes, I cannot think clearly with you around." He suddenly spat out, stepping closer so our bodies were nearly touching. I could feel the warmth of his breath on me, and see the dark lines beneath his eyes much more clearly. He made me nervous. I could feel my balance begin to wobble. "You resonate through my head every chance that my mind offers me. I _assumed_ that if I kept my distance, your image would fade from my mind but that undoubtedly only seemed to make things worse. Every time I was not with you, I tried to draw it out in my mind: your face, your features. I didn't want them to fade as other things have been recently. I consider myself a failure in certain aspects, but memory is not one of them."

"Then you are saying I am a distraction, but only to you?"

"That is what I am saying, Miss Adkins."

"You are mocking me?"

"No."

"Do you expect sympathy from me?"

"Not in the least."

"Then you are merely tormenting me."

"That is the last thing I wish to do."

These last few remarks were made rather hurriedly. We both found ourselves out of breath and out of words. Holmes had just made a serious confession; one that my mind could not avoid as being truthful. He wouldn't have said those things if he didn't mean them. Holmes was an honest man. And he had just said he thought of me fondly and often.

"Irene Adler has a bewitching form about her," he confessed. Before I could respond to the awkward declaration, he raised his hand for silence. "Yet _you_, Miss Adkins have an entirely different effect on my system. I can easily describe how I feel towards Irene Adler, but you? The words do not come quite as easily…"

"Try," I heard myself say sharply. Where was this confidence coming from? A month or two of waiting, I presumed. "Try to speak and I shall try to listen."

He struggled clearly with his words, his face pleading and desperate. I knew what this was doing to him. He was not the man to speak his feelings easily. When he did, it always took me by surprise. The look in his eyes nearly begged me to understand without having him say a word, but I refused. I crossed my arms stubbornly and waited. "Miss Adkins-"

"That's not my name," I said harshly. "My name is Renadale. Even Watson has a pet name for me. Why are you so afraid to call me by my name?"

"I am not afraid of it, or of you," Holmes sighed. "I am afraid of my own senses. You… have an impact on me. A strange, confusing impact in such a way that when I say your name I never wish to stop. Miss Adkins, your power over me is troublesome and unexpected. When I first saw you, your poor nature would not be considered the least bit charming, yet you had all the elegance of sovereigns. I cannot explain it. Can you?" His voice was fading into a whisper, his eyes scanning the floor for some sort of answer. I literally saw pain etch across his face as he spoke, his limp body seeming to hurtle towards the ground. Quickly, I grabbed his elbows, helping him stand up. "Explain to me this effect you have over me, Renadale. Explain it, or I shall have to reduce myself to being in a state of tenderness towards you. This is something I do not know how to handle."

I couldn't resist a smile. "Then say that. Say exactly that, even if it pains you."

His face fell unpleasantly. "I'm starting to gather the assumption that you enjoy me in my pain."

Before either of us could utter another word, his body collapsed to the ground. I fell down with him, his arms still in mine. "Lean against me," I said softly, sitting behind him. His head had sunk to the level of my torso, which was exactly where he laid it. He shut his eyes tightly, the bandage on his chest heaving. Fresh blood was beginning to seep through and I firmly held my hand against it.

"I'll be fine," he winced as I pressed his wound. "Don't get Watson." I held his firm shoulders in my hands, holding him closely towards me. I shut my eyes, completely pathetic around him. My lips pressed themselves to his wet hair, unmoving for the longest time. He was ill and had lost a lot of blood. I knew that I had been harsh on him, but the state we were in now could not have made me more contented. "Don't go," he said with his eyes still closed. "Renadale, I'm pathetically begging you not to go." His voice began to form a threat. "If you ever tell another living soul of this state I'm in, I will make sure that you depart my house immediately."

I laughed, kissing him on the head. "I will not tell anyone of how weak you are."

"It's your fault, indisputably."

To myself, I'd always been a rather poor, socially uncomfortable girl. I never knew what he saw in me, but I'm sure he thought the same about himself. He had no idea how magnificent he was to me; Sherlock Holmes, the most perplexing man in London. "You don't have to talk," I whispered as he buried his head further against me. His cheek hit my neck, his soft eyelashes brushing against my skin. "I can call Watson if you like."

"Don't. Call. Watson." He almost growled.

"Wish granted."

We sat there like that for quite some time. My fingers traced his rugged features. Leisurely, they trailed over the tops of his eyebrows. They traveled down his cheeks and over his upper lip. He didn't seem to mind my touch, as he too let his fingers touch the ones that were traveling over his face. He held them lightly in his own, letting our twisted fingers fall onto his leg.

Why did I even question him? How could I ever have doubted him? Yes, he had kissed Irene. But could I blame him? He had kissed me too. He had done it lovingly, and not for an advantage. He was an honest man and a good man. He had his quirks, yet I acknowledged them. I loved each one of them.

_I love how you shy away from cameras, yet you're so handsome._

_I love how you have a fondness for dates and olives, just like my father._

_ I love how you're more interested in bugs than people._

_ I love how you know everything about a person with just one look. _

_ I love how when they get upset with you, you don't care, because you know you can't help your vast knowledge._

_I love how you're the only one who seems to care what I think._

If it had to be one person, I was glad it was him.

Gently, I lifted his head upwards towards my face. His eyes managed to crack themselves open. I took the opportunity before he grew tired again. Leaning down, I let my lips touch his. He had no idea of the power he held over me. No one had ever been so hard to resist for me; not even beautiful Edward and his Grecian features. Or the other man. My first love. As I kissed Holmes, I felt my body weaken as I was now the one who needed to be held up. Holmes straightened himself during the unexpected embrace, locking me to him with his arms. He folded me into his chest, his lips opening wider at the sudden sensation.

My eyes were sealed tightly shut as he continued to break free. Then another kiss. Then anther pause. Then a change of mind to drown me in his affection once again. His once tired hands found energy as they drifted through my hair; combing it out sensually. The harder he kissed me, the tighter out grips grew. He broke free from my lips for a moment as we both gasped for air. "Renadale, open your eyes." He whispered with his forehead against mine. I knew how close he was, yet I obeyed him. He stared at me for a long time with our eyes only inches apart. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but struggled once again to find the words.

"I don't care anymore," I whispered, allowing myself to shut my eyes again. "Just kiss me."

Not a second passed until I felt his lips caress mine. I was drowning into him. I could feel my river overflowing, spilling over the edges of my morals. I let my body fall back against the ground as his towered over me. My breathing was quick as he began to kiss the lids of my eyes, my ears, my nose, my chin. They seemed to make a pattern up my jawbone and down to my neck. I couldn't hold back a small moan as I tried to convince myself that things weren't a dream. My head was spinning with thoughts I hadn't ever dared to think of before.

Did I dare admit it?

Would I regret it?

I was falling in love.

I didn't love him yet, but the thought was there. It scared me beyond compare. Sherlock Holmes had taken my soul and I was in too deep to come out. I thought I would be afraid to admit this sensation to myself, but at that moment I had no trouble with it. I wanted it. I craved it. There was nothing in the world better to me but his company and touch. "Holmes," I managed to breathe out. "Holmes, you never…" I struggled to speak as his open-shirted body pressed itself against mine. I leaned my head back in surprise, struggling with my words. "Holmes, you never told me what you were going to say," I spat out quickly in fear of him kissing me before my words could be set free. He paused momentarily with my chin held between his fingers. His face pulled away from mine to get a better look into my eyes. He didn't seem to be struggling, but he stayed silent. "If you think you will regret it," I mumbled. "Spare me… Spare me now and stop."

Then he said it. He said those eight words that I had been itching to hear. I'm not sure if you recall me saying this at the beginning of my tale, but I had always wanted him to just say...

"Renadale Adkins, I am… quite fond of you."

It may not be as terrific as love, or as sensuous as other things might have been, but it was the exact phrase I knew he would say. It was right up his alley and it was _exactly _what he would tell me before he ever confessed anything else. Without a moment's hesitation, I sat up, making sure our lips met once again. "Then I promise you that I will stay," I murmured. A look of innocence lit up his features.

"You will stay?"

I nodded.

"And you are okay with the fact that my oddities and strange qualities will most likely be presented to you?"

I nodded once again. Hadn't they already been? What else did he have up his sleeve?

"Watson is moving out," He said quickly, his brows rising in excitement.

I smiled, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "We will talk about that later."

"Aha," He said simply, never removing his eyes from mine. "Renadale…I did just happen to realize that we're in the middle of a hallway." Slowly, I checked in with my surroundings. No one had been present, but it was noted quickly in case someone was to come. "I suggest we return to Watson's station."

I nodded, my scraggly curls bouncing in front of my face. Holmes quickly tucked them behind my ear again. "I'll never get tired of these."

The case wasn't over yet, surprisingly. As Holmes seemed to fawn over my twisted hair pieces, I remembered that we still had a lot of work left to do. This was a temporary intermission. I grabbed his hand though, reminding both of us of reality.

"Come on," I smiled. "The game's afoot."

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**Just a random thought, but when you read this do you imagine them speaking in British accents? I do. I mean, she is british… I was just curious as to what you guys thought. XD So yeah, nothing really happened in this chapter which is ironic because it's kind of long, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway~ PLEASE REVIEW AND STUFF!**


	23. Conflicted Trio

**DID YOU ALL SEE THE SHERLOCK HOLMES TRAILER?**

**GO WATCH IT AGAIN!**

**NOW!**

**EVEN IF YOU'VE ALREADY SEEN IT!**

**INFINITE X'S AND O'S,**

**LOVE YOU ALL,**

**MISTRO**

**P.S. I was just in London this weekend for a college visit, and I went to the Sherlock Holmes museum! Watson was there. He was very old and fat, but I adored him. (: Also, I blew $60 bucks in the gift store. GO TEAM HOLMES! –waves banner enthusiastically-**

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Holmes stood at the back of Watson's office, running a towel through his wet hair. He grumbled when Watson would come over on occasion to slap more bandages on his chest. "Stop fidgeting," Watson warned. "Or else I'll keep you here until Renadale and I finish the case." Holmes narrowed his brows threateningly. That wasn't going to happen.

"I'm perfectly suited to go out," Holmes mumbled casually, creeping his way towards the door. Watson stepped in front of him with a firm hand uplifted.

"You're serious?" His friend laughed, shoving him back towards a chair. Holmes slumped into it pathetically. His image was far too disheveled to make an appearance outside. "Renadale, please try and talk some sense into the man."

I smiled lightly, but Holmes was less than pleased. He wanted to finish this case like he had all the rest. I didn't doubt that he would, but looking at him, I could tell that he was in a state of stupor and needed a day or two of rest. If his wound were to open again, he would lose even more blood. And what he had already lost was enough. "I'm afraid I can't," I chuckled. "The beast has a mind of his own."

Holmes casually glanced up at me with an expression of disapproval. He tried to make himself seem a bit stronger by sitting up straight, but it didn't take long before him to wince and crunch back down in his chair, his hand placed tightly over his chest. "If I can fight a man with my ribs split, I think I can arrest one with a bit of blood slipping out."

Watson snapped his head up from his papers, his handsome face now one of annoyance. His eyes shot over to the corner of the room where Sherlock's water basin was swirling with tints of red. The water on the floor was no color but pink, and numerous bandages were spread out across the room, painted with splotches of blood. Watson didn't even need to point them out. Holmes pathetically gave up his argument.

"Rena and I will go find those officers we talked to," Watson said, casually slipping on his coat. "You, Holmes, will stay here." Holmes was in one of those boyish states. His eyes glanced towards the window as he pretended not to listen. "I said; _you will stay here._" Watson growled, tossing on his bowler hat. "And if I see you walking outside, I will personally manage to slip more thallium into your water tonight."

Watson held open the door for me, that friendly smile back on his face. Though his aggravation for Holmes was obviously present, it was one that was familiar. I knew in my heart that things were almost over and my life would be normal. Well, if you could even _consider _my life normal. And at the same time, it brought a bittersweet note to my life's song, because I knew that this friend of ours would be leaving. He would get married, continue his job, have kids, and lead a _real _normal life. Holmes and I would live on without him, tracking murders and saving the day. My eyes glanced between the two. Holmes still stared blankly out the window. Was he thinking the same thoughts as I? I redirected my gaze towards Watson as he looked down to adjust his coat buttons. _You can't leave Holmes, Watson. He'll suffer without you. _

"Well?" Watson said, breaking my train of thoughts. "Are we off?" He offered me his arm as he often did. Gently, I slipped mine through his, shooting a small smile over my shoulder towards Holmes. He still wasn't looking, but I could sense his anxiety. His knee bobbed up and down in his seat, his pipe now clenched between his teeth.

"You're going to mess something up," Holmes cursed beneath his breath. Watson just smirked, flinging the door open behind him. Holmes finally watched us as we left the room. I turned around quickly one last time to shoot him another smile, but he snapped his head away once more. The door shut behind us and Watson and I were left laughing in the hallway.

"In his defense," Watson chuckled. "We may actually mess up."

I shook my head in justification, though I knew his words were probable. "You're just as good of a detective as any," I complimented. "Without you, I wouldn't have known what to do when Holmes went missing." My heart felt tighter at the memory. I had left the case when Holmes needed me most. I shook my head, trying to forget. Watson was silent as we walked towards the large, wooden entrance doors. He pushed them open slowly with a creek. After a while of no response, I planted my eyes on his saddened face. Something was obviously bothering him. "John, are you alright?" I asked quietly, a bit nervous by his sudden sorrow. I wasn't the best at soothing.

"What?" He was obviously taken by surprise. His blue eyes glanced down at me with shock, but calmed after a moment when he came back to reality. "Oh, I'm quite alright," he managed a smile. "Just doing a bit of thinking is all…" I nodded slowly. Quite alright? That was a lie if I ever heard one. Watson knew I could sense his false attitude and he finally sighed in defeat. "What you just said bothers me. You said you wouldn't have been able to do things without me. That's not what I want to hear."

Right. He was leaving. I bit down on my bottom lip in anger with myself. "Sorry," I whispered. "I didn't mean it like that."

We were in the middle of the street now, waiting to go across. Carriages busily rushed past us. Men and women surrounded us, moving on quickly to their next destination. The city was loud and alive. Watson and I seemed frozen in the midst of it all. The road finally cleared and he took my arm once more. We rushed across as I held on tightly onto my skirt, ready to get out of the commotion. "Come on," he said heavily. "I know a quieter path."

We walked a bit further towards the London Bridge. I stared up at it's uncompleted yet beautiful stature. The world was changing quickly and not just the people. I looked up at Watson once more, only to see his expression unchanged. "Doctor Watson, I really am sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I had only said that in a meaningful way. You've been a good friend to me. I'd never had friends, but you welcomed me so warmly. Understand that you leaving will not upset me, but I will be happy for you. And I'm certain Holmes feels the same." _A lie, _I thought bitterly.

"That's a lie," Watson spat out, rather sharply. "You know, he knows, and I know that when I leave things will be rough for him. And I hate to put the burden on you, but I am really requesting that you stay." My heart flip flopped. He didn't know the 'conversation' Holmes and I had earlier. "Renadale, I hope I'm not sounding arrogant. But Holmes needs someone there with him. I've been with him practically most of his adult life and to just leave it like that would be… ineffective on his senses, for lack of better phrasing." There was a short pause before Watson seemed to change expression. "Wait a moment!" He paused in the road. "Where is Miss Adler?"

What had taken him so long to notice? He was probably thinking about the wedding now that the case was almost finished. "She left," I laughed. "Rather quickly and without much reasoning."

"I'm sure there was reasoning," he sighed. "There always is. But, then again, there's always reasons for her to come back."

"No…" I said quietly, pushing him along again. "There's only one reason." Of course, we both knew I was talking about Holmes. "I'll be alright," I smiled. "I grew to like her."

"Like her?" Watson smirked, nodding his head. "Yes, I suppose she's rather agreeable to anyone but Holmes… and her theft victims. Then again, if you couldn't handle her, he certainly cou-" Watson stopped to laugh. "Nevermind. He probably wouldn't know what to do with himself. He never does." I shook my head, laughing in unison. With a beautiful woman like Irene Adler, how _does_ one handle themselves? He was always fumbling around her, always nervous. It was apparent that she had an effect on him. That wouldn't change my decision though. I was definitely staying.

We were making our way back over towards the sewer. Luckily, London's streets were getting bigger, so it didn't take us too long to reach our destination. Even though we had given the police orders, I was still shocked when we came back to the sewer to find Thompson unconscious on the ground. Watson and I exchanged wide eyed glances before rushing up to the officers. "Hello?" I said, tapping one on the shoulder. I recognized him from the '43' on his shirt collar as one of the officers I'd spoken with earlier. I recalled his name; Clark. His face looked even more familiar. Holmes had spoken to him on occasion. Sherlock had called him Clarkie. He turned around, also surprised to see me.

"You again?" He smiled warmly. He looked over to Watson, firmly shaking his hand. "Hello, doctor. Don't need to worry about this right here. We've got it all taken care of." There was a police carriage now in which a couple of officers were hauling Dr. Thompson into. I watched as his limp body was tossed about carelessly. People obviously had no respect for murderers… Then again, that wasn't a complaint. "Where is the detective?" The man asked quizzically.

"He's in my office," Watson replied. "He was poisoned by Thompson, but we managed to get it out of his system in time." I breathed a sigh of relief just hearing the words.

The man nodded politely in respect, but leaned closer towards us with a hushed voice. "Good thing, too. I don't know what we'd do without the best detective in England. I can't say that stuff aloud," he said, retreating back to his normal position. "My boss gets twitchy just hearing his name."

I scrunched my brows. "Your boss?"

Just then, the carriage pulled away with Thompson. He was going to be taken away and locked up for his crimes. No doubt there would be a hanging announced after a very short trial. As the black cart rolled off down the dusty street, there stood Lestrade, talking to some other policemen casually. His eye caught mine for a moment, before he looked away again. He seemed to not recognize us, because a minute later he stopped to do a double take. "I'm sorry," I heard him call out at a distance. "I wasn't paying much attention." He extended his friendly hand towards me and I gladly accepted it with a shake. He did the same to Watson. "Well, how are you? How's Holmes?" Though he often acted as though he disliked Holmes, I could tell the man had a hidden respect.

"We're alright," Watson said politely. "Holmes is not at his best. We left him in my lab where he hopefully, though I doubt it, is resting."

"I doubt it as well," Lestrade grunted. He curled the corner of his mouth up into what seemed like a smile, but had obviously aversion in it. His eyes scanned me over quizzically and I felt as though he were going to arrest me. "Miss Adkins… it seems you're not at your best either."

I glanced down at my dress. Somehow I had managed to look past all of the blood, ink and dust on it. I let out a small gasp. Obviously I hadn't been very careful in the operating room. I was anxious enough as it was with Holmes waking up that I clearly wasn't worrying about my appearance. My hair was a disheveled mess. I knew that without looking in a mirror. And of course, I was certain my makeup wasn't perfect. It never was. "I realize I'm not the most presentable right now," I muttered. "I apologize."

"Don't," Lestrade shrugged, placing his hand on his bludger. He drummed his fingers against it silently, looking us over. "Once again, you beat me to the punch."

"Without your men, Holmes might not be with us right now," Watson said with a polite smile. Clearly, we had done much better on the case than the cops, but that wasn't going to be loudly stated by any of us. If Holmes had been there, that might have been a different story. "Thank you very much. We came to talk to you about the last part of the case."

"The last part?" Lestrade said, raising his brows. "I thought you said this man was the murderer."

"He… is," Watson said slowly. "But he was working for someone else." Lestrade smiled bitterly. Clearly he was hoping it would be a short work day. "His occupation was under the orders of a business man. He wanted the organs for money, not for any scientific reason. He knew that it was something doctors wanted and hired Thompson to work for him."

"Yes. And with that money he hoped it would help his business," I added on. "None of the men were trained killers. One of them was very young and began to grow nervous with his actions. That's how the organ removals became more sloppy and less looked after." I stated the facts with reason. I hated how unfeeling, how unemotional my voice sounded.

"But Holmes wasn't killed instantly," Lestrade said, narrowing his eyes.

"Holmes was the main target after a while," Watson explained. "He was not the original goal. When he started getting in the way, that's when Thompson was ordered to go after him. He wasn't killed instantly because of reasons we're not quite sure of yet."

"So…" Lestrade sighed. "This man was in control of all of the other murderers. He never got his hands dirty." Watson and I both nodded calmly. "And you know _who_ it is?"

"We don't know his name," I mumbled. "We do know it's the owner of the London Asylum for the Mentally Ill." I did not want to call these people insane, though it was clearly what they were. They were just people who had no control over the demented mechanism of their own minds. "His business is bad as of late. He needed money. He let some of his patients go on leave to help him with the murders. One of them, Jacob Irons, is dead now..." My voice trailed off into a pool of grey eyes and blonde hair. One of which I would never see in the flesh again, but always in my mind.

"You're positive?" Lestrade's mouse face twitched. "If you've got the wrong man, then what?"

"We don't," Watson said firmly. His head rose nobly, his youth defying his intelligence. Without his mustache, I would have guessed him to be only a young man. Facial hair did the trick. "It's the right man. You'll find out when you get there."

Lestrade chuckled, flagging his men to come over. "You mean, _we'll _find out."

This was not the news Watson wanted to hear. His pride suddenly shrunk into the dust on the streets. He dropped his mighty stature and stared forward coldly. "I will have Miss Adkins go with you, but I must ask you for permission to leave." Lestrade only stared at him. He was going to leave me alone? After all, I was a lady. Even if I did look like I have jumped into the Thames and not taken a bath for a week. I was just happy to be helping out at all. "My wedding is coming up very soon. My fiancée is finally in town. I have not seen her for quite some time, and I was hoping-"

"Alright, alright," Lestrade sighed. "I was just hoping to get a more sensible mind on the case." I winced, but did not argue at his statement. He was right. I wasn't a cop or a detective and would probably serve no purpose being there with them. "Miss Adkins has more knowledge of the case than my men might, I suppose. She will be fine tagging along. That is…" He said slower. "If you are willing to, Miss Adkins?"

I nodded quickly. "Of course, sir. I would be glad to help finish this case."

I was going to be alone! I was going to be on my own, finishing a case? Did that even make any sense? Of course, Lestrade and his men would accompany me, but from our trio (or quartet rather, since Irene had shown up) how did I end up being the one to finish off a case? In the back of my mind, I wished Holmes would have been able to go with us. Bringing him along would have made me more at ease. This was something I had to do by myself, however. It was a new awakening for me. I was planting a seed in my soul that was going to bloom into a large tree of strength and stability and become an equal woman in that regard.

"Extreme apologies Lestrade, but I will be accompanying you and the lady."

All of my tree metaphors sunk like a ship with bullet holes.

"Holmes!" Watson shouted, spinning around on his heels.

And there he was, standing casually behind us as though nothing had ever happened. His new shirt was clean and white, though his bandages still bulged. His pin striped pants were in order and he wore a fine new waistcoat. His head was bent, as he was focused on lighting his pipe, and not at Watson whatsoever. Even though I was growing a bit excited to do things on my own, I lost interest. Holmes was there now as things should have been.

"Holmes!" Watson repeated, scoffing. "I told you to stay in my office! You knew perfectly well that you're no-" His face drooped. His eyes looked over Holmes very slowly, until he finally groaned. His face buried itself in his hands. "You're wearing my gift to Mary's father."

Holmes stopped what he was doing, glancing down at his waistcoat. "This is his?" Holmes pursed his lips curiously, shaking his head. "No, this is not his color. He's a dark blue kind of man. I'd be happy to take it off his hands for you."

Watson's face was red with anger. At any second, I could see him lunging towards Holmes and ripping the coat off of him, opening his wound, and only causing more chaos. Quickly, I stepped between them. "Holmes," I said firmly. "Hand Watson that waistcoat. It's a gift for Mary's family and you've already caused enough wedding problems to begin with." My voice was much more motherly than expected and it didn't take Holmes more than a moment to listen to my orders. "Clean this up and go to my mother if you find any stains. She's good at that kind of thing. Then, get back to Mary, who is no doubt waiting for you."

Both of them looked at me in disbelief. Was Renadale Adkins giving orders? I knew that's what they were thinking. Smirking, I was suddenly proud that I had control over both of them. After living a life of a recluse, sudden power felt rather sweet.

"Well, I'll say one thing," Lestrade chuckled. "You're lucky as hell to have her with you."

Holmes's eyes darted quickly towards my face. I read them with ease. _I know. _I felt the heat of embarrassment color my cheeks and turned away quickly, suddenly wishing I was out of the spotlight. "Let Holmes come," I said softly to Watson. "He needs a bit of adventure."

Watson was not excited to follow my orders, but he agreed with a grunt. He said it might actually do him some good, but to make sure that I kept a close watch on his wounds. It would be fatal if they were to open. I nodded, sending him a quick peck on the cheek for good luck, and he was off. He would soon be out of our lives for a while and we both knew it. We watched bitterly as he walked away from us, his grey jacket flapping nobly behind him. In my eyes, John Watson was a hero.

"Bastard," Holmes muttered, ruining the moment.

"Sherlock!"

"He does do me a bit of good though."

"He's done you a whole_ life_ of good." That was something neither of us could disagree with.

"Now that the family reunion is broken up… and not to ruin the moment…" Lestrade sighed, stepping between the two of us. "I think its best that we get to our final destination." He flagged his men down once more as we all started to head towards the asylum.

Holmes and I walked slowly in the back of the group with our eyes on the ground. Clark and Holmes exchanged casual greetings when they passed, but other than that the walk was decently silent. I imagined Holmes was thinking the case over. How would he end his grand finale? How would Holmes once again save the day and go unnoticed? There was no doubt he would hide the credit for it. He never openly took it, though everyone knew his name.

"Watson will be happy with Mary," Holmes suddenly said. I did not expect that to still be on his mind. He nodded slowly, his face no longer forlorn. Once again, there was a bittersweet attitude to his look. "On that note, there _will_ be an extra room in my apartment… Though, I will admit I do not often enjoy social gatherings. With someone much like myself, however, I think I could manage."

I laughed aloud. So _that_ was what was on his mind. "Holmes, my mother would never let that happen." My mother certainly would have let that happen, _if_ there was a wedding band wrapped around my finger. I had never had affections for anyone important. They were always silly, and there had only been two that I could recall before Holmes. One was Edward. The other was… not important. Living with him, seeing him every day… The thought terrified me. It was too much of a good thing. Good things didn't seem to happen in my life. When they did, hesitation was the only thing tracing my footsteps.

"Renadale," Holmes said, remembering my wish to use my name. "You're absolutely right. Your mother would not allow such a thing. She would want you to have some decency."

"She would, indeed."

"She would request a room on the next floor."

I felt my face drop in displeasure. That was something neither of us could deny. Holmes knew that it was _I _who was afraid, but he didn't want to make me uncomfortable and point it out. Now he was making it even harder for me to escape, something much more devious. "I'm just your maid, Holmes." His head snapped towards me with mocking eyes. I caught my breath and turned away. The sheer force of his mockery was nothing less than a threat. "I'm not going to be your partner," I muttered. "Just because Watson is leaving…"

"Watson is not leaving," Holmes said, pulling his pipe from his teeth. He puffed smoke into the air heatedly as his voice picked up its pace. "Watson _cannot_ leave. He will not admit this to you, myself or his lovely bride to be, but inside he knows the truth and as do I. Our world is the only real thing Watson knows and he also knows what's good for him. Reality is a nasty trick, Miss Adkins," Holmes smirked. "Don't get caught in its web."

"You really think he'll come rushing back to you after the wedding?"

"It's not a thought, Miss Adkins, it is a fact. If Watson was so keen on running away from this life, then why is it that he is still here when he could have been married long ago? If I don't know John Watson by this point, then I am not a detective after all." He frowned sourly. "And if I am no detective, then I am a mad man."

"He will come back to you because you will be a dog, biting at the hems of his pants," I said bitterly.

Holmes laughed at this, flashing his perfect teeth. I wondered how on Earth he managed to keep those intact and nothing else. "I will be a patient dog waiting on the door. I will not bark or bite, but I will be there when he comes. John Watson is nothing without a case. He is... a fish. Slimy, thin and often distasteful." Holmes smiled at his playful insult. "However, and excuse the fish metaphor, he is as hooked onto this life as I am."

Something about his sentence bothered me. Holmes was never going to give up this life. He was never going to put himself out of the way of danger, but rather sit in the middle of it, body and mind an open target. He was an oddity; a rare type of person one never meets. Yet, I was lucky. I got to see it in the flesh. This man was a fascination. He was a splendor for the world to see and he wanted to protect that world. He loved his job with heated passion, but kept it hidden. He kept the love for his work secret as well as the hate behind the massacres. I saw it all in his brown eyes, but said nothing. I only smiled because I knew he was right. Watson felt the same, though his hate was openly expressed.

"I apologize for doubting you," I mumbled. "We'll just have to wait and see then, won't we?" There was a hint of sarcasm to my voice. Watson was with Mary now. They had a large future ahead of them. Why would he want to come back and be with us?

"The doer of the act…" Holmes said carefully. "… does not forget as easily as the offended."

I stared at him blankly, letting his words resonate through me. Watson, after separating from us, would think of cases. Holmes would live on as he always had, but for Watson the act of helping those in need would not be as great. He would sink into a quieter life. It was one that I had presumed he wanted. I stuck to my word, however. We would find out in the future.

Holmes seemed to let the conversation crumble. He was obviously feeling better. I stared at him silently from the corner of my eye. He was happy to be finishing the case. Soon we would be done and we would have to wait for another. I saw what he had done to himself in that time. He would allow himself to get thrown around. He would allow himself to sleep, to drink, and to even take to the use of drugs. It was all natural, he said, and did not affect him. And in honesty, he did not change. But it frightened me to think of it: him polluting his body. I sighed. That would only be another beneficial step to living closer to him.

"Are you deep in thought, Miss Adkins?" He interrupted.

"No," I muttered softly. "Not deeply."

He could sense the lie in my voice. He was going to ask me what was bothering me, but Lestrade stopped in his tracks. He faced Holmes with a firm look on his small face. "Don't do anything pushy, Holmes. Let me do the talking." Holmes only rose his brows in response. His fingers stuck his pipe between his lips. "Yes," Lestrade said. "Just keep that between closed lips."

"As you wish," Holmes muttered through clenched teeth. He quietly blew a puff of smoke towards the Inspector.

Lestrade rolled his eyes, as we finally approached the stairs. It was the beginning of the end.

**~.~.~.~**

**Please review and favorite and stuff. (: Story is almost over. Oh, and I'll need to chit chat with all of you about the…. THIRDQUEL… or whatever it is. We'll get in touch. 8) **


	24. Rugged Crusade

**Hey everyone! Sorry I haven't updated in a few weeks. My friend came over to my house in Germany, so I had to entertain with day trips and what not. Summer is almost over though, how sad is that? I bet you're all excited to go to school, or whatever ^^ But in the MEAN TIME… NEW CHAPTER.**

**Many of you mentioned that you still wanted HolmesxRena time… So I thought I would treat you. Hope this is alright! And sorry for the delay in action… Some is coming up soon. I PROMISE! –strikes a proud pose- **

**Hope you guys are still freaking out about the trailer as much as I am! AMAZING :3 **

**Infinite X's and O's,**

**Detective Mistro**

~.~.~.~.~

As the doors were flung open, sounds of misery entered ours ears. Moans, groans, and cries for help were echoing off every wall. I shut my eyes tightly. I wished I could escape that place. My heroism was suddenly reduced to its core until there was nothing left. Holmes noticed my discomfort. He leaned down to whisper to me. "Something must be wrong here."

"They weren't like this last time," I whispered. I could see arms and legs sticking out from behind barred doors. The inmates were dying to get out of their prison. Physically _and_ mentally. "They were quiet the last time. I don't understand what has set them off."

Lestrade and his men were fiercer than usual. They kicked and shouted at the people, telling them to be quiet, _ordering _it, because they were 'policemen'. I watched silently, somewhat hurt by their actions. They didn't sense it like Holmes and I did, but something was terribly wrong. We'd reached the end of the murky hallway and stopped just outside of the main office. A constant attempt at reassurance was swimming in my mind. _I hope this works. _

Lestrade eyed everyone carefully before briskly shoving open the door. His gun was held up firmly in case an unwanted attack was released. No one moved as we expected the villain to show himself. The desk was the same as the last time I had seen it. Everything was in order. There was just one problem. He was nowhere to be seen.

"Look around the room," Lestrade ordered to no one in particular. "Discover his identity. Check his belongings." He tucked his gun away with a grunt and turned on Holmes and I. His face was etched with anger. He was obviously not pleased at this discovery. "Where do you think he could have gone? The sewage system?"

"No," Holmes said simply. "He doesn't know his way around those parts, which is why he hired someone else." Holmes glanced around the room, his eyes telling more than his words. "He's much simpler than that."

I glanced around the room as everything was searched and turned over. The police men were flipping through papers, going through drawers, and tearing books from their shelves. My eyes focused on Clark, whose movements were slow and careful. He was looking perplexedly at a sheet of paper with wide eyes. "Sir," he said softly after a moment. "There's a bill here for a thousand pounds." Everyone stopped what they were doing. _A thousand pounds? _My mother only made about 450 pounds a year. A thousand pounds was something special, but for what?

Lestrade sighed. "He must have sold the organs already." The smell began to enter my mind. "What's his name?" Lestrade asked. "Is there a name on the bill?" Clark shook his head, handing Lestrade the paper. His hope vanished when the bill was empty besides the amount and purpose. It read; _Scientific Education. _"If he's gone, do you think he suspected our arrival?"

"Clearly," Holmes mumbled. "Now he's gone to get his money." We all looked towards him quickly. "He's left the place," Holmes repeated. "Nothing was bothered here in order to make it seem simple. He's most likely at the bank making a deal. Then he'll leave London. The mad man is escaping his own prison." Holmes snatched a blazer on a stand nearby. He slid it on casually, but frowned once he noticed how it stopped before his wrists. "Well," he muttered to himself as he tugged at the sleeves. "It will certainly have to do for now."

I rolled my eyes as I took his arm in my hand. "Jackets are not important. We should leave."

"There should be some issues with receiving a thousand pounds. There's no doubt that he's most likely at the bank." Lestrade interjected. "We need to move out quickly."

"Well, you won't find him," Holmes said to everyone's distress. Lestrade looked as though he were about to murder Sherlock himself. "If he's been this clever about hiding his identity before, he's either going to be in disguise or have someone else doing it for him." Holmes frowned, causing us to mirror his expression. "Or, he might be making a private deal all together somewhere else."

Lestrade held a sour expression on his face. "All the more reason to get there sooner."

~.~.~.~.~

_Walking. _It was a word clearly no longer in Lestrade's vocabulary. After we left the desperate inmates alone in their solitude, our legs only sprinted down the street. We did not need to tell people to move out of our way. The sight of six police men, a bloody and ragged female, and injured Sherlock Holmes was enough for everyone to clear the path. I struggled to keep up as I continuously tripped over the hem of my dress. In the back of my mind I wondered if this was all worth the exercise. Holmes noticed my misery and merely laughed it off. I shot him a look of warning; his charm was fading by his mockery.

"Clear the path, clear the path!" Lestrade shouted as he flapped his arms about. Women shrieked as we nearly trampled over them. _These police really want to get home for dinner, _I thought with some amusement.

The hot day droned on as the sun hit my dark dress. I felt myself slipping into exhaustion. At one point I had to stop all together. Holmes halted immediately, telling Lestrade to move on. Lestrade barely glanced back. "Renadale, are you alright?" He mumbled, grabbing my elbows to hold me in place.

I nodded wearily, shutting my eyes as the brown and grey London facades spun around me. "I'm just a bit hot is all," I winced. "You should go on. I probably wouldn't serve much use anyway."

Holmes frowned, scanning my face for some sort of spark. I only stared back at him. I believe my body was literally swaying. Holmes bit down on his lip, unsure of what to do. "Renadale, you must get out of that dress."

I suddenly woke up, my eyes bulging from my head. "You want me to what?" I shoved him away from me. In my defense, the heat was causing a delirium. I wasn't thinking straight. Of course I knew he meant because I was about to faint, but it didn't process so quickly in my mind at that moment. "Holmes, even if it is because I'm hot, I don't have anything to change into." His eyes quickly snapped sideways towards a small, brick shop on the corner. It was a men's clothing store. I stared at it uncomfortably. "I'm not wearing pantaloons," I muttered.

Holmes looked at me with little reassurance. I merely stared at him, too tired to argue any further. With a grunt, he grabbed my clammy hands and pulled me into a side street. "If Lestrade were one to listen," Holmes said as he tugged me along. "He would know there was a different route. A quicker route. If we stay back here, we'll get there sooner."

I smiled, pleased to be in a shady alleyway. I stared down at his hand in mine, not caring that it was a hot day. His lively warmth was all that was important. "You saved me," I heard him mutter without turning around. "You deserve to finish this case and I'll see that you do."

My heart drummed terribly inside my chest. His words resonated throughout me. I had saved Sherlock Holmes (with help of course, but I was too satisfied to note that) and he knew it. It was something I could acknowledge forever. My friend, Sherlock Holmes, was alive because of me. If I ever needed anything, I could use that against him for a very long time. Naturally, I began to smile. "Holmes," I said to him, still in a state of wonder. "When you were unconscious… were you still thinking about things?"

He didn't answer for a very long time. At first I presumed he didn't hear me. He just led me quietly through back routes as the shabbier side of London opened itself to us. I began to forget all about my question, but was surprised when I was rewarded with an answer. "I suppose you could call it thinking," he sighed. "Though, for me it was more of a delirium. I don't often dream, so I couldn't call it that. I knew I was not dead, but I had no control over my thoughts."

"Abstract thoughts? Thoughts that made no sense?"

Once again, no answer came quickly. I waited patiently this time, hoping that he had heard. What had he been thinking about? Somewhere inside, I selfishly wished he had thought of me. I hated myself for thinking that way, because I had never expected a man to glance at me let alone talk to me. Holmes had gone as far as to kiss me. What kind of mind set was I supposed to be in now? I hadn't even noticed he'd stopped walking until I ran straight into him. "I'm sorry!" I blurted out, stepping backwards. Had something gone wrong? Why were we pausing?

Holmes never turned around to face me. I saw his back raise with a sigh as his fists dug themselves in his pockets. His foot tapped the cobblestone quickly as his head lifted itself upwards in thought. I watched these peculiar movements with confusion as well as anxiety. Were we wasting time? "Holmes, I didn't mean to ask anything that might have troubled you," I suddenly exclaimed as the possibility of me offending him entered my mind. "We shouldn't keep Lestrade waiting because of my foolish questions."

Holmes finally turned around, his thick brow raised with amusement. "Lestrade isn't even half our path, and…" He pointed behind him with a jerk of his thumb. "It seems we are already here." My cheeks grew red with embarrassment as I gazed up slowly at the bank. I'd been so lost in thought that I hadn't even been paying attention to our surroundings. I dropped my head with embarrassment, mumbling an apology or two. "In your defense, I was thinking of the proper way to answer that question."

"It's not vital." I laughed nervously. "It was honestly a stupid question. I'd just sort of wondered at the back of my mind and thought I'd give it a go!" My nervous laughter disintegrated into a frown. I awkwardly redirected my gaze towards a nearby brick wall. Holmes had already been so good to me. Wishing that he would speak about me in a loving fashion was just too much more to ask.

"If I hadn't of woken up, I think I would have been alright." Slowly, my eyes rose from the bleak wall and up to his handsome face. His words bewitched me in a sort of way; I wondered where on Earth he was going with this confession. "My thoughts only consisted selfishly of you," he said calmly. It as though it were a fact rather than a sentiment. "It was difficult to try and turn them otherwise. It was as though dreams of only you were all my mind could think about. It was like the name Renadale was written on everything and I couldn't escape it." He rolled his eyes, a tint of bitterness in his voice. "The things you've done to me, Miss Adkins." He sighed heavily, turning his back on me once again. He began to walk towards the bank. "You really are dangerous to be around."

I stood glued to the spot. It was another confession that I thought I could only dream of hearing. No, I didn't even think I could dream that one up. I wondered what I should do with that statement. Should I tell my mother what he had said? Should I keep it to myself forever? His words were so lovely, though spoken with a hint of resentment. I was obviously stressful to him, but once again I was selfish and didn't care. He was all I wanted to think about, in fact, he often was. Ever since I had met him, he seemed to ransack through my brain. He had no right to call me dangerous. _He_ was the dangerous one.

"Well that's not entirely fair now, is it?" I called out, crunching my brows together.

His lips were pursed in curiosity and he made his way back towards me. "Enlighten me as to what I'm doing unjustly."

"You said I was dangerous. You didn't even bother asking what you do to me."

His eyes grew wide for a brief second, before he regained his composure. "I trouble you somehow, Miss Adkins?"

"You tell me. You're often consuming _my own _head, though you seem to only point out that I am always in yours. How is it that you treat me so differently than everyone else? Why is it, rather?" Holmes said nothing. He looked uncomfortable. I thought for a moment that he was literally trying to walk away from the conversation. "Don't try and leave," I snapped.

He sighed quickly, his shoulders rising dramatically. "Miss Adkins-"

"Now we're back to informality?"

"Renadale," he corrected. "You must know that I've never met anyone quite like myself, and when I did, I did not expect it to be a woman. I've never been fond of your type, or my own type for that matter, but you had to come along and change that entire mindset. One finds it difficult when everything they've pondered changes on a dime. Wouldn't you agree?"

I snickered at the remark. "Are you telling me that you only love people like yourself?" He froze instantly at the use of the four letter word. His eyes transfixed themselves on mine heatedly, shifting back and forth with an emotion I could not decipher. "I apologize," I said smoothly. "I did not mean love in the literal sense."

"Is there a… unilateral sense?" He asked with discomfort.

I had no answer to that. I was now as uncomfortable as he was. We both suddenly grew to hate the silence. Finally he sighed, baring his soul towards me and a beggar just down the road. We disregarded him, however. "Love is not something I claim to be unfamiliar with," he said calmly. "It is justly not noted, however, in my case."

"How is such a thing not noted?"

"Because, _I_ personally fail at detecting it." He looked almost saddened by this. His eyes turned away from me momentarily, a sort of darkness crossing over his face. I thought of Irene and if he had ever truly _loved_ her.

"Could you ever learn to?" I asked softly.

A homeless man had gathered behind us, listening now intensely to our conversation. Holmes could not see him, but I did not send him away. In his defense, it was a rather interesting conversation. "The notion has been brought up consistently as of late." His cheeks turned crimson. "No, _wait, _I apologize. I'm not suggesting that you should."

Holmes was not good with affectionate words. I did not know of his writing skills, but if he had ever tried to write a sonnet, I was sure it would be absolute rubbish.

"If… if you _did _however, have _those kinds _of feelings…" He blundered on. "I would not... that is not again a suggestion for confession." He quickly rushed this last part, raising his palms as though to calm me. I stood still despite this gesture. "Excuse me I am merely trying to answer your question. It seems my answering is making me more ill than I had originally presumed. Not that I had presumed it happening before."

Holmes had now thrown himself into a state of frenzy. His face had turned entirely red and his words tripped over the endings of the next. His eyes could not meet mine anymore and I could not hold back my grin. The beggar's mouth had fallen wide open as a look of disbelief crossed his face. "Oi!" He suddenly shouted, his raspy voice escaping from behind his white beard. "Jus' tell the gal ya love 'er!"

Sherlock shot a threateningly look backwards towards the man. "Excuse me, but let it be noted that it's much more offensive to listen in on one's conversation than to not tell someone how you feel. Mine, if it were true, is a secret while your action is just considered out of place. Go on, I have nothing for you."

The old man spat something towards him and walked away shaking his head. After he had turned a street corner, I allowed myself to keel over into a fit of laughter. Holmes just stared at me with his face tightly annoyed. "Oh, stop it," I finally said after my laughter had died down. "He was just trying to help." Holmes just stared at me. He was unpleased at all of these confessions he was giving me. I was giving him none in return, but merely laughing at him. I struggled with what to say, but I couldn't remove the smile from my face. "I thought it was very sweet."

"You thought I was a blubbering idiot."

"I thought no such things!" I laughed with another grin. I did think him that, but a very _caring_, blubbing idiot. "You're much too hard on yourself."

He rolled his eyes, obviously not believing any words laced with chuckles. He turned on his heels, muttering something about having to go find Lestrade. I knew he was actually upset when he began to mumble, so I quickly snatched a patch of fabric on the back of his coat, tugging him back to me. "Wait," I said softly. Carefully, I laced my arms around his waist. My eyes shut as I allowed myself to be close to him for only a moment. After a short time, I let him go. "A hug for safe keeping," I said gently after he turned around to face me. "I did not mean to hurt your feelings."

He stared at me thoughtfully. He made no move to touch or hold me, but I didn't mind just looking at one another. "You poison my dreams, Renadale," he sighed so softly that I could barely hear him. "And not in a good way." He curled one corner of his lip into a half smile, obviously teasing me. "You have yet to tell me how I affect you."

"My life is filled with insecurities and hardships." My head dropped. "Yet when I'm with you, they melt away. You are the kindest man I know and I owe you everything." He meant to interject, but I stopped him. "My room, my inventions were all I knew. I can honestly say that I don't miss any of them. Being with you and Watson invented an entirely new life. I feel like I have a purpose, like I am needed. I am not longer a lonely bird without a song," I felt that tight feeling wrap itself around my heart. Hearing my own words aloud, I realized how bitter I was with life. How sad I had been since my father had left me. "I am so grateful to you, you cannot even comprehend..."

It was all I could do not to hold him once again, so I knotted my fingers together with nerves. When I finally managed to look up at him, I caught him staring. He looked disturbed by my sadness, wanting just as much to hold me as I did him. I tried my best to smile and his eyes caught mine hesitantly for a moment. He inched in a bit closer, his eyes still searching my face for acceptance. I did not move an inch. I was more ready than ever to have him kiss me. My smile continued to grow as he finally shut his eyes. I followed in suite as his lips softly met mine. We stood like that for a while until it was broken.

He seemed ill at ease, as though he somehow wanted to comfort me. To tell him it was alright, I placed my hand on his cheek and offered him a small smile. "Thank you," I muttered, before he leaned in once again. I felt his warm hand wrap itself around my neck as they other landed on my face. He pulled me to him with a lingering sadness in his kiss. It was as though he was saying sorry. Sorry that he had brought me into this mess of a life. Sorry that he had not been better at showing his feelings. Whatever he was apologizing for, I smiled against his lips to show that he had nothing to worry about. "We should go in now," I laughed. "They're probably on their way."

"No doubt." Holmes sighed as he dropped his hands to his side. Neither of us needed to say anything. Everything was exactly where it should be. All of our emotions were in order. "And so," Holmes said. "We continue on."

~.~.~.~.~.~

The bank was musty and huge. The walls were tall and the red brick practically glistened. The counters had a metal tint to them, making the whole place seem luxurious. It was certainly top notch, and of course I'd never been inside it. My mother and I didn't have any accounts or money to collect. If we ever did, my mother would be the one to do it. I knew very little about money. I hardly spent it and if I did it would be for something vital.

Lestrade and his men had beaten us, but Holmes and I didn't bat an eyelash. They were forcing people to stand still until they found someone. They would not identify who they were looking for and they had never seen the man like Holmes and I had. "They're doing it all wrong," he practically growled beside me. "They're never going to get things done if they do it this way."

"Stay where you are!" Lestrade shouted, frightening the people even more. A baby began to cry beside its mother. It seemed more like a robbery than an arrest. I watched with discomfort, wishing we could just find the man and get it over with. Lestrade's small eyes scanned the room quickly, before tucking his gun away. "Where is he, Holmes?" He whispered.

Holmes's eyes were also scanning the room. The look on his face was difficult to ignore. He didn't have any clue. You could see nerves breaking out on both of their faces and I was certain on mine too. This wasn't common. Whenever I was nervous, Holmes was calm. Now he looked just as unsure as everyone else. "Follow me," he said deeply. "Tell your men to let these people resume their business." Lestrade nodded and began to summon over his men. "No," Holmes muttered. "Just you. We don't need more men getting in the way than there already are."

"Holmes-" Lestrade began to interject, but Holmes shut him up with a glare.

"You are causing this case to be more complex than needed. I'd even suggest that you send the majority of your men home, but knowing your inflexible nature I decided to cater to your habits. So, now I'm recommending that you follow _my _lead...Sir." Lestrade stopped talking instantly and sent his men away once more.

I watched in confusion as Holmes approached a counter. The man behind the desk stared at him with awe. "Sherlock Holmes?"

Holmes frowned. "You recognize me?"

"Well, it's a rare occasion to see your face, sir," the man nervously stuttered. "You always seem to cover it up in pictures. I do recognize you, though." His eyes shot up towards his now dry, scraggly hair. "The hair makes things a bit easier."

Holmes smiled, though I could clearly see the discomfort on his face. He certainly wasn't enjoying all of the attention he was getting recently. "Yes, of course," he mumbled quickly. "If I am indeed who you suggest, then you know that your help is in great need."

"It is?"

"You have been chosen to give me astounding prolific memory images of everyone you have served today. You are indeed the man to give out requested money?"

"If the ticket seems reliable, sir."

Holmes paused for a moment, drumming his fingers against the metal counter. I wondered what was going on inside of that brilliant head. He was obviously calculating something. "Yes, well I need your help in describing anything you've seen suspicious. I realize that's very vague."

"I can assure you that there hasn't been anyone in today that I've questioned."

"He would have been elderly," Holmes said quickly. "He wouldn't have been wearing glasses, or a waist jacket for that matter. In fact, he would probably be gawkily dressed. His apparel would seem rugged. He looked poor." I listened from a few feet away, not understanding. Why would a wealthy, rich man want to make himself look like a pauper? And what made Holmes suspect he did?

"Well there was one man here today who was especially old. He seemed tired too, rather grouchy." The man scratched his chin quizzically. He was getting us somewhere and he knew by the way Holmes's face began to light up. "He said he wanted a large amount. Oh, I can't remember the exact amount but I want to say it was about one thousa-"

"Fantastic!" Lestrade shouted, shoving Holmes out of the way. "When did this man come in?"

The man's eyes grew wide now, his mustached lip quivering a bit. Lestrade was much more intimidating than the eccentric Holmes. People these days would have listened to a nut case over Lestrade. "I'm sorry. I can't remember the exact time. It was before noon, in the morning."

"Don't get too hasty-" Holmes tried to interject but Lestrade once again ignored him.

"You realize that we are dealing with a murderer," Lestrade continued. "If you could give us more specific details about his character and the time we would appreciate that."

"He was rude, he didn't have glasses, but he was wearing a coat. It was grey and long and awfully dirty. It looked stained with something, but that's all I can remember." The man's head dropped pathetically. "I'm sorry. I didn't think much of it at the time." While Lestrade was gathering more information (information Holmes probably already knew) a woman with the child was slowly walking towards Sherlock. She gently tapped him on the shoulder, her fingers shaking. Holmes spun around, shocked to see his inquirer.

"Are you the detective in the papers?" Her small face was tight and afraid. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, her baby silently nibbling on its own fingers in her arms. They looked simple and obviously not rich. She seemed afraid to be talking to Sherlock Holmes, but I knew he would attempt to make her feel comfortable.

"I'm a detective," he said, offering a small smile towards the child. "That's all I can hold to myself."

"Yes, but you _are_ Sherlock Holmes?" Holmes pursed his lips for a moment before he cracked a smile. That was all he needed to say for a conformation. The woman began to relax, a smile also forming on her pale face. She seemed much more at ease as her shoulders dropped and she began bouncing her child. "I was worried when I saw so many men come in. But, knowing that you're helping is a great comfort. Your work is much appreciated, Mister Holmes."

Holmes was not used to flattery, and honestly I'd hardly seen it given to him. People recognized him, but they were astonished to get a glimpse of the eccentric detective, so they hardly ever said anything. As I watched Holmes stare at the woman, I saw that underlying discomfort, but he thanked her anyway before she happily left. His eyes locked mine after a moment. I smiled towards him, knowing that he deserved every drop of thanks he got. And the ones he never did.

"Holmes," Lestrade growled. "He had to have left. He's fled and he's most likely out of the city."

"What makes you so certain?"

"He ordered a carriage right after receiving his money. I'm not sure if he's out of the city, but it's easier to get lost in a crowd than a country. If he was hiding from us, he would have stayed here. Now he's just trying to leave as soon as possible."

Holmes pondered all of this, taking each word carefully. "Send home your men, Lestrade," Holmes muttered after a moment. He began to fiddle through his pockets, pulling out a scrap of paper. His eyes scanned it carefully. "Yes, send them all home. We don't need them."

"Holmes, I'm not sending backup away," Lestrade threatened.

Holmes stayed calm, despite Lestrade's firm nature. "Sir," Holmes mocked. "I'm asking you politely to send your men out. Bring Clark, that's fine by me. But the rest must go. They will only get in the way. This man is alone, completely alone. And if you think arresting an elderly man is a difficult process, then by all means you and your gang can take another cab. As for Miss Adkins and I, we'll be taking our own." He began walking towards the door. I presumed, since I was mentioned, that I was tagging along. I silently followed behind like a dog. Lestrade watched, unsure of what to do. "You can slow us down or you can come with us Your choice."

Lestrade looked at his men a few times before puffing angrily. "Clark," he said, wagging a finger towards his tall partner. "You're coming with us. The rest can go home." His eyes grew dark for a moment. "Expect a hanging tomorrow."

I felt my heart flop in my chest. Images of a bodies suspended by ropes flashed darkly in my mind. The man was going to be hung? I could see his grey hair being hidden by a black bag. I could see his hands being tied. All of it was in my mind and none of it had even happened yet. Would it be public? The thought disgusted me, even though I knew what he had done. I didn't like death, not even for those who may deserve it. I shut my eyes for a brief moment, trying to block out all of the images Lestrade's words encouraged. I looked towards Holmes for reassurance. He said nothing. He knew just as well as I did.

"Alright," Lestrade said as he and Clark approached. "Take us to where this man is. And if you've lost him, Holmes…" He paused as his face sent us an intimidating glare. "…it's _you_ who's going to the gallows."

Holmes managed to crack a teasing smile before he put on his usual furtive face. "I've missed you too, Lestrade."

~.~.~.~.~


	25. Autumn Breeze

**Hey guys! Thanks for the reviews, you guys rule. :] This chapter is sort of short, but I think I'm going to make these last chapters sort of short. Why, you ask? Because… Well, honestly I have no idea what to do about the new movie. I feel as though I'll finish this one long before it comes out. But I don't want to start the third story before the new movie. I'll discuss this later on, but please, enjoy the chapter. :] Sometimes, small things are good things. **

**Infinite X's and O's,**

**Mistro**

~.~.~.~.~

The carriage ride was less than amusing and more than uncomfortable. Lestrade and I sat on one side while Clark and Holmes stared back on the other. We were moving as quickly as we could out of the city, but the tension in the cramped space was still there. "Open a window," Lestrade ordered after minutes of silence. He tugged ardently at his suit, beads of sweat breaking out on his wrinkled forehead.

Holmes glanced over at Clark, who slowly cracked one open. The gentle wind was pleasant, but the noise was not. As we passed through the city the loud and clambering sounds rung through our heads. I saw Holmes wince as the breeze hit his face firmly, his hair flying about. He was clearly not happy and after a moment's time he requested the window to be shut.

This was the only exciting thing that happened on our ride out of the city. Maybe you can tell; it wasn't a very pleasurable trip.

Regardless, small talk was attempted to be made, mainly between Clark and I.

"Do you have a family, sir?" I asked him, hoping he would save us all from that awkward, silent prison.

He seemed warmed by this question. "Yes," he answered, breaking out into a smile. "My wife and I have two children. Michael and Annabelle, ages 7 and 9." I nodded politely, pleased to know that Clark had someone to return home to after long and stressful days. He was a very kind man, and he deserved that much if not more. However, after that answer I didn't know where to take the conversation, and we all watched as it dwindled back into silence.

Holmes's eyes would occasionally glance my way. He made no notable expression; as if he was just checking up on me. As if I had anywhere to go.

Most of the time, I kept my eyes fixed on the curtained window, wondering what lied behind it. Who was out walking on the streets of London? What if my mother was out and about and I couldn't see her?

These were the 'interesting' things I thought about for nearly an hour, and hopefully you can understand my lack of delight during that time. Then again, no one ever said solving cases would be fun or easy.

~.~.~.~

The carriage stopped out in the country. You could hear the voices and noises of the city beginning to soften the further we traveled. The late fall air was surprisingly hot and humid as it rustled the tall grasses of the English countryside. We knew from that very sound that we were getting closer to our destination.

Except, only _one_ of us knew where that was.

The driver woah-ed his horses to a halt, and Holmes made no hesitation to get out of the carriage as fast as possible. None of us blamed him. We followed suite to the outside, where, inevitably, the three non-detectives frowned with displeasure.

"Where in the blazes are we?" Lestrade cursed, his shouting practically drowned out by the wind.

The sun was shining, and the day was beautiful despite the season. However, our stance was right outside of a tall grass field. The stalks were turning a light brown. Soon, there wouldn't be any stalks at all with the winter. They swayed to the left smoothly with the force of the breeze; our hair dancing along with it. The area was deserted. A forest could be seen about a mile away, but other than that, it was merely an abandoned field.

Of course, I wanted to side with my boss, but… I was with Lestrade this time. Holmes may have been losing it.

He turned around to the carriage driver, giving him the send off. After the clomping of the horse hooves was out of range, I allowed myself to face him. "I'm actually as confused as Lestrade," I admitted stridently. "Why are we in the middle of a field?"

Clark, Lestrade and I all snapped out heads simultaneously towards Holmes. He stood with his back straight and his eyes narrowed as though something had caught his attention elsewhere. Slowly, he raised a finger and pointed above the grass. "There," he said. "He's headed there."

We followed his gaze out into the field. A few miles away, over past the forest, stood the edge of a building. It was old and small and its exterior seemed to practically crumble as we stared at it. I tried to understand what Holmes was getting at. I tried to understand what we were looking at. I tried, but I failed. My eyes looked over to his for help and explanation.

"Lestrade," Holmes said, shying away from formality. "How well did you inspect that IOU?"

Lestrade's cheeks began to flush. He hadn't even glanced at it. It was Clark who found it and Lestrade had merely plucked it from his fingers. I remember that moment; wishing I could take a peek of it myself. "Hardly," Lestrade replied. He wasn't going to be shot down by Holmes that fast. "But I also _hardly_ think that it was worth-"

"It said where the sender was from, didn't it, Clark?" Holmes mumbled, visibly annoyed. His eyes shot over to the handsome cop, who stood bewildered.

"To be honest sir, I also didn't look much into it."

"That's fine!" Holmes said, perceptibly sarcastic. "Because I managed to when you and your men were running around like lost hogs. The person giving him that money explained where he resided."

"He led him here, I presume?" I sighed, trailing my thoughts back to the moment. Holmes nodded and began checking his pockets for something. I winced when he pulled out a gun, inspected it, and then tucked it away. I prayed he wouldn't have to use it again so soon. I distracted myself by turning around and looking down the path we came. It was a long, thin road constructed of pebbles and dirt. The lightness of it struck me as familiar and a sense of déjà vu overcame me. "Have we been here before?" No one spoke. "I couldn't see in the carriage, but it looks like a memory…"

Holmes stepped closer towards me. I could feel him near my back, sending a chill down my spine. His face was close to mine, but I kept staring ahead. I was actually afraid to look at him. "A memory," he said delicately. "But not a very good one."

I continued staring down the road as though I could see what lay beyond it. I watched as the breeze tossed the dirt up in the atmosphere, almost forming pictures before my eyes. I _knew_ that road. "It was on the way to Michael's house. The first boy that was murdered." I remembered the incident perfectly. He was out in the country, on this very road. "And it's that forest…" I could feel beads of sweat spreading out on my palms. It was suddenly coming back to me. "That forest was where the hidden trap was, and where…" I remembered Holmes and me sleeping side by side. I remembered his touch, and how that same night I thought of leaving him. "It doesn't matter now." I choked, turning around to face them. "It's not important anymore."

Holmes continued to stare at me. His eyes glanced down the road again before meeting mine. He knew _I_ knew something else about this place, but didn't want to talk about it.

This place.

This road.

The fields of flowers. The tall grasses. It was distant. Tt was faded in my mind. Yet, I would have known where I was, even if I restrained from coming here for years. This road would never fade from my memory. "_Why_ are we here again?" My words came out through clenched teeth.

"Yes, I understand that the address led here, but where _are_ we?" Lestrade spun his body around, trying to make out his coordinates. Holmes's eyes never left mine. I tried my best to avoid them, but his exact gaze tormented me. I looked back at him fervently after a moment, trying to regain my composure. I knew exactly where this was going. And I hated it. "Holmes, are you listening to me?"

"Of course, Lestrade. Never doubt it. I'm just waiting for something else."

That set me off.

I haven't told you yet, but you may already know where the conversation was going. Use your deduction methods.

I was furious. I could feel heat rushing to every inch of my body, causing my head to spin. I began to storm off, but I turned back around after a moment. My voice was much louder and angrier than any of us expected. "Why would you ever even _think_ of bringing me here? If you knew this all along, how could you even _fathom_ that I would feel alright with this?"

Lestrade and Clark stared at the two of us with flustered expressions. "What the devil is going on?" Lestrade cursed.

Holmes stepped closer to me. I didn't move from my spot, though I wanted to run away as far as I could. He didn't touch me, but he waited until I met his eyes. After I did, his gaze became softer at the sight of my pain. "Don't make me go." I muttered, wiping tears with my palm and holding back even more. "You shouldn't have done this."

"I thought it would satisfy you somehow; knowing that you could take care of things this way."

I knew Clark and Lestrade were confused out of their minds. I was too weak to explain to them what was going on. I was too tired and at that point I regretted not leaving when I could have. Holmes could have done it on his own, but he had to drag be back to that very spot. It made me sick to think about it, but I was there. And I had no alternative.

"I'll go back to that carriage." I whispered to him beneath my breath. "You know I will. I can leave whenever I very well please."

Holmes nodded. He was clearly not expecting me to be this emotional about things and was disappointed when he saw that I was. I wanted to make him proud, but I had to come to terms with myself first. To make him proud, I would have to damage my fondest memories.

"I apologize," Lestrade grumbled. "I can see that you're clearly upset, Miss Adkins. However, let me just say that there is a killer on the loose. And I would very much like to get things settled as soon as we possibly can, despite your attitude towards the situation. Whatever that is."

"I'm not being childish!" I said towards him, my face desperate. "You don't know what's going on! I'm sorry to confuse you, but now is really not the time for you to be lecturing me!" I wasn't normally the girl to speak out like that, but I stood my ground. Nothing he said could have made me feel better.

"Miss Adkins…" Clark said slowly, raising his brow. "Do you know where we are? Is this a terrible situate for you?"

Holmes looked at me curiously. He wanted to know if I would answer the question. They were _all_ wondering how I would answer. I looked between the three of them, deciding whether to run or to stay.

I sighed heavily after a moment of thought. They were just doing their job. Holmes was trying to make me feel heroic. I didn't owe him my leaving.

"This place... where the man is hiding…" My eyes glanced out towards the crumbling, little house in the distance. The beauty of it didn't fade with age. They all stared with me. They couldn't see, but behind it was a lush field of flowers. Beautiful, blooming flowers. "It's my home."


	26. Nameless

**Hey everyone! Sorry it's been a while since I've updated. School started, and I'm busy with language classes, regular school, and I'm currently in the production of "Jane Eyre" which is due to perform soon. So, any of you actors can understand where I'm coning from when I say; REHEARSAL GIVES ME NO TIME.**

**The actor's motto… "I can't. I have rehearsal."**

**AT ANY RATE :] I hope you enjoy this chapter, and chip chip cheerio gents and ladies, enjoy the show! *pulls top hat off head dramatically, twirling it, and descending herself into a bow***

**~Mistro**

~.~.~.~.~

I hadn't expected to be back there so soon. Though it'd been years since I'd seen my earliest home, it was still too soon. In fact, I hadn't expected to come back _at all_. Those distant memories poured back into my remembrance as though they'd been hiding for a long time. It was like the memories were waiting for vengeance. Now they had their chance to haunt me. I could feel my heart flouting beneath my dress, hoping my face showed less sign of grief than my heaving chest. I had to stay strong for everyone's sake. I couldn't allow my past to eat me up as it had so many times before. Things had to change.

"Miss Adkins," I heard Lestrade murmur. Hire voice was more empathetic now that he knew my issue. He could tell I was distressed. My face was not able to conceal my anxiety. "If this makes you feel uncomfortable in any sort of way, we can reprimand this. You do not have to accompany us. We can simply call the carriage back."

I did not answer him right away, nor turn to face him. My eyes stayed transfixed on the crumbling wall that I could see past the field. If there was someone in there, a murderer in my own home, I could just turn back down the road. Or, I could do something about it. I could make people proud. I could make _myself _proud. "I can't," I confessed. "I cannot _not_ go with you. If he is really in my home, then I must see that he leaves."

Holmes's eyes locked onto my face; I knew that without looking at him. He was bothered by his decision to send me out here, but little did he know, I was becoming grateful. I began to feel as though this would be a sort of solace for me. I could let go of my past and do something I felt was imperative. I wanted to stop bitter feelings for my father's death. I only wanted to care for and cherish his memory in perfect preservation. I had a new life now; one with friends who accepted me for who I was. I needed to make _them_ proud.

The sun was beginning to glance through speckled clouds, splashing a golden ripple over the field's soaring grasses. Winds were picking up as my bun's stray hairs brushed in front of my eyes. The scene was beautiful somehow; tranquil and soothing. I felt infinite. I was ready for something extraordinary. "Come on." The men still seemed disconcerted with my circumstances. "I don't want to wait any longer." Images of Holmes unconscious, cut up bodies, and bleeding victims flashed through my mind. The things I had seen were numerous and frightening. I could handle a weak, sick old man getting justice served to him. "I'm _more _than ready for this."

A smirk slid across Clark's face. "You're very brave, Miss Adkins. We'll end this today. There's no doubt about it."

"I know." I smiled genuinely. "I am a woman filled with conviction."

A small path on the left cut through the field and led towards my house. I recalled it instantly, leading the gentlemen to it with expertise. They seemed impressed, obviously glad that I had decided to tag along. Clark and Lestrade led the way once we knew where we were going, but quietly in case, "someone was hiding in the marshes" or, so Lestrade suggested. Holmes and I lagged to the back. He knew I was still hesitant and allowed me to calm my nerves by trailing behind. I didn't want to be the first one to reach the house or to open the door. It would shock me too much to see someone else overtaking my home.

My hands were clammy, the nerves in my veins turning to sweat in my pores. This game had become too twisted. There was no logic anymore, just murder. I wanted things to be quiet for a while. I wanted this to all end. We were nearly there, nearly finished. Holmes's knew it and so did everyone else. But he could sense the nerves written all across my trembling body and though I wanted them to stop, I couldn't help it. The closer we got, the worse I felt.

"Renadale…" He started to say. That affectionate tone was in my name, a sound nothing could compare to.

"I'm fine." I cut him off, attempting a small smile up towards him. I knew looking at him should have made me feel at ease, but I could feel my hands quivering against the textile of my dress. "I'm fine if…" I was humiliated to ask, but I had to. It would be my only source of comfort for the time being. "If you'd take hold of my hand, I think I'd feel better." The color was unable to hide from my cheeks.

He stared ahead, his face naturally unreadable. Without a word, he slipped hand his over mine. His fingers wrapped around my entire palm with a firm hold. He uttered no complaints, but rather held it cordially in his. Every time I began to tremble, a soft squeeze would be sent my way.

We were getting closer and things only became quieter. As we neared the house, I could see the flowers in the front yard. They were poorly taken care of. No one had been there in years. They were once trimmed into a beautiful garden, one I spent much time in. Now they were dominating. Flowers, weeds and grasses sprouted from the ground. In a way, they were terrifying. They had lost their beauty in my eyes. I turned my face away from them and back to the waving grasses.

Lestrade pointed between him and Clark. I knew what he was saying; _We'll go in first. _The independent Renadale inside of me was shouting; _Why of course not! I shall enter the house first, for this is a predicament on my very land! _But, I could not muster her up. My only response was a nod.

Holmes glanced from the men and then back to me. Where would he go? I urged him to follow Lestrade and Clark, just in case something went wrong. I would follow in shortly afterwards, if I could muster up the courage. But he made no movements. He stood by my side, flapping his hands at the two cops. "I will come," he mouthed. Lestrade looked less than pleased, but finally turned on his heels. I saw him pull his pistol from his waistcoat pocket, preparing for anything.

My luck only became more unfortunate. Something clicked beside me, and my head immediately snapped towards the direction it had come from. Sherlock had also pulled out a pistol. He cocked it into place, ready to use it at any second. "Holmes!" I screeched, despite myself. I instantly regretted it.

"Now!" I heard Lestrade shout from up ahead. The slam of a door rang out, followed by the sound of a struggle. There were moans of pain and grunts of weariness. I didn't know which belonged to whom, but clearly something had happened. "Holmes!" Lestrade's voice was furious. My shrieking had obviously given them away far too soon. "You're lucky she didn't mess things up! Get in here! _N__ow_!"

Holmes's shot me an unimpressed look. "Your innocence is not always fitting for you, Miss Adkins." He then took off towards the entrance.

I did feel a bit ashamed. Why did I always have to mess everything up? In my defense, guns had always frightened me. So, sue me. What could I have done?

There were more shouts and noises coming from inside my house. I imagined them attempting to pin the man down, to at least make him immobile somehow, so they could ask the questions they needed. As for me, I found my courage running low. "I am like a soldier…" I muttered. "… merely waiting for the Captain's orders."

"Renadale, come inside," Holmes called out for me. He sounded strangely calm, but with exhaustion and lack of air in his voice. I was afraid of the sight that awaited me. My skirt brushed against my standstill feet, like little hands pushing them to move.

"I'm on my way."

I could feel the dry land crunching beneath my boots. This place was like a war zone. It belonged to the Earth now. Vines were making their way up the frame of my front door. Berries curled up towards my window. I could see inside. Lestrade locked eyes with me, urging me to cross the threshold.

Inside, I stared at our living room. It had wooden floors with stucco walls that my mother said reminded her of Italy. I wanted to smile at the memory, but the warmth of it was gone. The walls were bare now and the room empty. Empty, except for the man leaning against the wall by the fireplace, his head bleeding and his eyes closed. He was still breathing; I noticed as I stared at his chest. He looked as tired and worn out as I felt. But we were not to be compared.

The man must have sensed my presence, because his eyes slowly managed to crack themselves open. His eyes scanned me up and down, something I did not fully appreciate. He recognised me from before we suspected him of murder. He was a sick man and I thought it then more than ever. Unexpectedly, however, he began to pull his lips back into a smile. I flinched at the sight of it. He was knocked down and bleeding. What could he be so pleased about?

"Why are you smiling?" My feet inched closer towards him. I heard Lestrade's gun cock, but I raised a hand to stop him. "Just let me talk for a moment. I can handle this." I didn't know if I could, but I wanted to try. I think I deserved that much.

"Because you and I both know where we are," he replied weakly. This was his end. He knew it. But he wouldn't leave without getting the last word in. "This is a happy place for you, Miss Adkins." The sound of my name upon his lips nearly made me sick. It wasn't beautiful like when Sherlock said it. "There should always be smiles in such a place."

I could sense the tension of the men around me. They were growing more anxious the longer the doctor and I stared at one another. What was his name? If only I knew that much, I would have some sort of advantage. Calling one by the name is a defense mechanism, or so I'd learned from working with Holmes. It startled the person, because it made things more personal. That way it was easier to give in or to give up. I could not even manage to utter a response let alone his name, but instead found myself staring into lackluster eyes. Why did the man do the things he did? For money. He was nothing more than a Scrooge. Yet, he would not become kind hearted in the end. His story did not end that way.

"Name them off," I said suddenly, the idea clicking inside of my head. The man stared at me with his brows creased in confusion. "Name off each person that you killed. Tell me something about them." It was hard to suppress my anger, when it was clearly being demonstrated through my gritted teeth. I could see nerves bouncing off from him. He wore his fear like a suit of armour.

"You're not-"

"Go on." I urged, stepping even closer to him. With a flick of my foot, I could touch him. I would keep a space between us though. It would give him cause to sweat. Who knew when I would pounce? For all he knew, I had a gun in my dress pocket. He was such a frightened thing, for all his bold talk. Now I was going to make him face the facts. "Tell me something about each person. Let's start with Michael, shall we?"

His grey brows dropped. He was not amused. Not in the least. I was getting somewhere and I knew it without Holmes's guiding eyes. "Michael. Was he the farm boy?" Bitterness and mockery chimed out of the man's lips when he said the name. He wasn't taking things seriously. It was all a game to him at this point.

"He wasn't just a farm boy. He worked to make money. He worked so he could take care of his family. He was interested in medicine and therapy and he visited those women to make them feel better about themselves; to tell them not to hide behind makeup and filthy men like you. Not many people have that kind of decency in them." I said slowly, making sure he heard every word I said without a mutter. "And you know that is the truth. But, what _do_ you know about him? I'm assuming this is all news to you." I didn't know where my confidence was coming from. I felt in even more between the walls of my own home. As though my father was watching me, urging me to keep going, and to do the right thing.

"I know that he was my best specimen. He was the first one. His body was cut and sliced with precision." I wanted to hurl at the sound of his response. What kind of monster lied within such a man? How long had it taken for this monster to grow? "He was a young boy of little importance. There are many bad people with good traits in the world. And you must realize that there are good people with bad."

My face was growing hotter by the second as I began to realize that he was not as nervous as I expected. He was becoming more sinister by playing off of my words. I would have to make them tougher. I would have to scare him with the things he did himself. "He was perfectly conserved, wasn't he? Did you make much money off of that?" I hated saying such things, and even more, I hated the smile that was spreading across his face. "What about the man at the party? At my friend Edward's house? Now, that wasn't very successful. There was something lacking there. Not a strong enough poison? Perhaps it was the target's fault. Maybe your paid killer didn't insert enough poison into the drink? Whatever it was, you failed that time around. You grew weaker after that and it showed in your work."

Just as I had expected. The man had nothing to say. He stared at me with a heaving chest. A swirl of crimson blood trickled from his forehead wound and down onto his cheek. He didn't make a move to rid himself of it. His eyes were fixed solely on me.

"Then, of course there were the women: Emilia, Charlotte and Danielle. Naturally, their names weren't important to you."

"They were whores. Nothing about them is important to anyone."

"That's not entirely true, now is it?" My voice began to rise as the speed of my words picked up. I was no longer solving a mystery; I knew who the killer was and I wanted my justice. I wasn't going to hide my anger any longer, but I was still going to make him falter. He was going to crack soon. "Those girls were important to your check, weren't they? Without them, your IOU slip wouldn't be quite as large. But your men were sloppy. You rushed them. You threatened them to do _better_ than the last time. You got very little out of that and it only made you more upset. Money wasn't coming in like you had hoped and then you turned against the _one_ person you knew was causing the problems."

His eyes snapped in the direction of Holmes, before quickly returning back to me. "What's your proof?" His body rose from the floor a bit and closer towards me.

"Everyone you killed was somehow connected in a way with Holmes! You knew that, didn't you? Just in case he came around, you would have a reason to scare him off. You would have a reason to capture him like you did. It wasn't your intention, but just in case, you planned things that way. It didn't matter where the organs came from as long as indirectly they were connected to him!"

Feeling a bit better about everything, I allowed myself to glance up at Holmes. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't unhappy. His eyebrows were drooped in a quizzical manner, but his chocolate eyes held a twinkle. He was proud of me. I had done it without him. To my surprise a smile cracked across my face. I was like a little schoolgirl who had aced the test.

Except, I wasn't expecting what came next. The test had turned into a pop quiz and it took everyone by surprise, not just me. A growling started coming from my feet. Shocked, I looked down to see the asylum owner's mouth opening until he was shouting with rage. No words were spoken, but his screams of fury were startling enough for me to instantly run to the men with trepidation. He hauled himself off the floor, his withered body bending in a demonic way. The four of us all started in fright while Lestrade and Holmes quickly pulled out their guns.

My pride was vanished. I was as startled as ever, clinging to Holmes's arm from behind him. It was steady with his gun aimed in the correct direction. "First thing you do…" The man shouted, his mouth spurting out blood as he spoke. "Check a man for his gun!"

With the flick of his arm, he pulled something out from behind his back. I saw it's metal instantly: the shining, silver metal of a pistol. My heart pounded in my chest as my nails dug into Sherlock's arm. Before my shout of, "No!" was even heard…

_Bang. Bang. _

Two shots rung out. And from both directions.


	27. A Very Brash Idea

**Sorry it's been a while. :] I just finished up a two weekend performance of Jane Eyre, so now I have some more time on my hands. Even though I just started another production… None the less! I actually do want to take this story a bit slowly, because I want to end it near when the new movie releases. That way I can write the third part AFTER the movie. This may seem complex, because I'm not fully explaining myself. BUT! Just know that even if I take a long while to upload, I AM STILL HERE. There won't be a repeat of last year. :]**

**-_- Never again.**

**Infinite Xs and Os,**

**Mistro**

~.~.~.~.~.~

Some say that mental or psychological pain can outlast that of a physical kind. I know not by scientific standards if this is regularly true, but in the cases that I have witnessed and have been a part of, I find this to be a falsehood. Physical pain is something that can certainly last with you forever. For example, if someone cuts your knee, you could have a limp your entire life. You may wake up in the morning and think; "My goodness! My knee aches especially worse today. Perhaps, I should rest a bit longer." You don't think of the actual incident where the carriage had gotten a bit too close and you'd forgotten to pay attention.

The fact of the matter is, pain, for me, was something that was not dealt with easily. I had suffered in solitude with the death of my father, so I knew how to relieve emotional torment on my own time. When it came to physical illness, I had to admit that I was rather healthy. It always seemed to be a new experience for me when I received a cut or a bruise.

Or, in that case, a bullet.

~.~.~.~.~

The shots rang out from both sides of the room. They were loud, and unexpected. Smoke filled the air, causing a few of the men to sputter and cough. Holmes stood in shock upon realizing that he felt no pain. No cuts etched into his skin; he was as good as they came. The doctor had fallen however, and was screaming in pain ever since Holmes had pulled his trigger. But, where had his gone? Why did Holmes take no hit?

My mind at the moment when the guns fired was not working properly. I had heard the noise. I saw the guns. My eyes followed the target towards Holmes in a straight line. It was going to hit him. No matter what, it was going to hit him and he was going to fall; again. England couldn't have one of its greatest men risking their life again, and if it had to be done, it wasn't going to be from a mere bullet. My self-conscious poked at my memory and pulled out images of Holmes unconscious and beaten in the sewers. It was all I could see: pictures of him in undeniable agony. He could not suffer such a thing again.

I wasn't there because I had no purpose.

I had to do something.

That was as far as my thought process had got before I stepped in the way. I did not scream in surprise, or let it be known that I was going to take the hit for him. But, I did. I did it and still to this day cannot say if I regret it or not.

I felt the sharp twist of weapon against my shoulder. Holmes's bullet must have pierced the man before his own had went off, causing him to change his aim. It missed my heart and hit my shoulder, shattering the bone upon contact. I had been quiet up until then. After that…

Well, it was a good thing we were in a place where no one could hear us.

It is as if you had your fingernails had been pulled back and then nailed into your skin. This was how it felt, only worse. The pain is too much for me to describe. Over the years, I have tried to erase it from my memory. Yet, every once and a while, I can feel that lingering tingle hidden away in my body.

When the bullet hit me, I could feel the hot tears sting my eyes instantly. I hoped that by squeezing them tighter and tighter the pain would disperse. My hands instinctively grabbed my bleeding shoulder as nothing but screams left my lips. I could not make sense of what was happening around me. Two hands were grabbing me and pulling me towards the floor. They were wrapped around my waist, as to not disturb my growing wound. A voice was speaking to me in my ear, but the more it talked the less recognizable it became. I could not hear them over my sobs and my screams. Then, all of the voices began to merge into a single hum. A buzzing noise coming from overhead. I finally cracked open my eyes, but when they were open, I felt nothing but numbness and pain.

That was all I remember until I dozed off into unconsciousness.

~.~.~.~.~

_"You know what those are, don't you?"_

_ "Of course I know, father. They're stars."_

_ "Stars? Just stars? How could such magical things be described in one word?"_

_ "Father! Don't pick on me. You know they're stars."_

_ "But, they're not just any stars, my dear Renadale. They're _your_ stars. You can look up at the night sky and every night they'll be there for you."_

_ "Sometimes they like to hide."_

_ "They only hide when they're especially tired and need their rest. They can't always be putting on a show for you, you know. Though, I'm sure you're their favorite audience."_

_ "How do I know they're always the same stars? How can you tell?"_

_ "…Stars are like stories. They form pictures in our minds and they end up staying there for a very long time, sometimes forever. You just have to look at them to know. You have to look at the stars above you and create your own stories. They'll always be there, just like me. Every time you look at the sky, just know that the stars and I are watching over you." _

_ "But dad, you're right here."_

_ "I know, my darling. I know." _

~.~.~.~.~

Beneath my palms, I could feel soft fabric. I could feel feathers in the sheets beneath my body. I kneaded them gently between my fingers, liking the gentle feeling they gave me. My head was rested on an equally soft pillow. I knew I was in some sort of hospice, but as to where I was unsure. I remembered getting shot. That wasn't something I was to easily forget. My shoulder was sore and I could still feel its burn. I wasn't sure of how long I had my eyes closed. I didn't know how bad my wound looked. But, I was certainly glad to be in such a comfortable place. Wherever it was.

"She has color in her face," an unrecognizable voice called out. A cold hand placed itself over my own and without opening my eyes, I snatched mine away. "Her senses seem to be working just fine. Give her a minute and I'm sure she'll come to."

Perhaps that was a sign for me to open my eyes, but I felt as though I could not. I scrunched my forehead in agitation. My eyes felt sore. They felt as though they were sewn shut. I hoped that whoever was gazing upon me found me stoic. Inside, I felt more distressed than ever. I remembered what happened. I had gotten shot. That part was still very clear in my mind. Clear, like the pain in my shoulder.

"Will you stay with her?"

"Naturally."

That was my mother. She was on my left. I felt another hand touch my arm, this time softer and warmer. I knew it was her. I wanted to reach out and take it into my own, but I wanted us to be alone. In the darkness of my sealed eyes, I waited to hear the click of a door shutting. Then, I allowed sunlight to enter my vision.

Above me were wooden panels. They boarded up the ceiling of what I knew to be a hospital. My mother's head was down with her hands still on my arm. Her dark curls that matched my own were beginning to turn greyer every day; no doubt from all of the stress I was causing her. Beneath the veil of hair that hid her face from my vision, I knew she was crying.

"Mother…" I whispered, just audible for her to hear.

Her head instantly shut up. I watched her look at me with heartache written on her face. I was torturing her. Her polite, elegant daughter was not what she hoped her to be. I caused her nerves to extend past anything she'd ever experienced. Her tired eyes were bloodshot and her lip was in a nonstop quiver. She let out a low moan, which gradually became a sob. Her small body flung itself across the bed to wrap me into a tight hug. I could not return the gesture, but winced when her body hit my shoulder. "Mother!" I groaned in pain, trying to push her off with my good arm. "Please, remember where you are!"

She backed off a bit and began to nod her head reverently. "Yes, of course..." She muttered to herself as she dabbed her eyes with a stained handkerchief. I had no mirror, but I guessed that my mother looked in as bad a state as I.

A vase of fresh flowers sat beside my bedside, and the windows were cracked open a bit to give the dark place a sense of nonchalance. "Mother, why am I not at home? With an apothecary?"

My mother and I would have struggled to afford a physician to come to our house. Here, I was clearly working with a surgeon. I had no recollection of how I got there and I dreadfully began to wonder how I would pay for such a luxury. "An apothecary would do you no good," my mother said firmly. "They would only prescribe you drugs as they always do. Drugs that would make you more ill!"

"Mother, how are you going to pay for this?"

"It's already been paid…" She said in a whisper. "Mister Holmes."

_Fool, _I thought to myself. _Of course Holmes would do such a thing. I just have to think of a way to repay him. _I turned my eyes back to my mother's wrinkled face, watching her makeup drip onto her cheeks. "Stop crying…" I mumbled, taking her hands gently in mine. "You'll mess up your makeup."

"As if I care anymore," she whimpered. "You know… You and I were never alike, Renadale. You and your father were the ones with the same outlandish interests. Never once did you want to go to a ball in town or shop for a new dress. It was something I always wished I had in a daughter, but instead…I got you." The phrase seemed like an insult, but I knew she meant it lovingly. I was like my father. I was all that was left of him. "I love you for everything you have become, everything you are, and everything you will be. And when you gallivant on these expeditions with such little concern about me…" Her voice trailed over into another silent weeping fit. I could do nothing but hold her hand and attempt to calm her with soft words.

"I don't wish to cause you pain, mother. If I were the slightest bit voracious, I would perhaps mention the pleasure it's brought to me. But, I don't think of those things. I do think of you when I work. I worry for you, and I worry that if something bad should happen, I would leave you alone. I never wish to do that to you. I love you more than anyone in this world. My own indefatigable excursions with Mister Holmes seem tiresome and endless, but I do it because I love them as well. But, know that nothing will ever cause me to stop thinking of you or caring for you. I shall always have you in my heart, no matter what happens to me."

She said no more on the topic. We were beyond speaking when our own words were not enough. Her head rested itself on my pillow beside mine. I turned my face to her, my forehead leaning against hers. My shoulder began to sting, but somehow her presence made the pain fade. I shut my eyes and allowed myself to lull off into a soothing sleep.

~.~.~.~.~

Holmes did not expect me on his doorstep the next morning. My mother insisted that I go to him and thank him for the care he gave me in my illness. My shoulder was bandaged quite thickly, and I could hardly move my arm without feeling as though a knife were digging into it. Being my mother, she had dressed it perfectly to look fashionable enough. "It's acceptable for public view," she had said. "…even if it is not the most flattering of appearances." She was back to her normal self. I was glad for it.

Early that next morning, I found myself on Baker street. Thoughts kept flooding my mind and distracting me from my destination. _Where did they all go after I dozed off? Did they arrest the man? Was Holmes alright? Had Lestrade sentenced a hanging? _

Before I knew it, I was on his doorstep. My fingers paused on the handle, knowing that a maid would soon be there to open it if I knocked. I was breaking the rules of society. A woman was never to be with a man alone without the presence of a friend, family member or servant. It was unlady like. I had broken that rule far too many times. What was one more?

Besides, I had never been viewed as a lady. I had jumped in front of him and taken the bullet. _That _was unlady like. It was quite a noble thing to do, in my opinion, but I did it for him. Did he understand that? Would he think I was an idiotic fool for acting that way? I could hardly think anything else, because a maid had already seen me through a window and was at the door in seconds.

"Miss Adkins!" She said happily, though her nervous eyes trailed over my bandage. "Please, do come in. Mister Holmes is upstairs in his room."

"Doctor Watson is not here, I gather?"

"No, he's left to visit Mary. They're preparing for their wedding together. She wished to do it on her own, but I figured Master Watson missed her dreadfully and asked her if they could do it together."

I thanked her for the information and began to climb the stairs. I was glad Watson was with Mary. That was one less soul stressed, and knowing he was happy made me feel better. However, as I waited outside of Holmes's room, I could imagine his face as he saw me in his doorway. He would be brusque and tell me how foolish I was to do such a thing. None the less, I was there. I couldn't turn back now.

My hands knocked against the dark wood. Only seconds now until...

"Hello," I muttered as his tall frame appeared in the doorway. He stared down at me with a look of surprise. "I didn't mean to interrupt anything you were in the middle of. I wanted to come here and personally thank you for giving me a surgeon. My mother and I could not have afforded such care, and without it, I fear that I might be in a much worse state than I appear now."

Sherlock's eyes scanned my bandaged shoulder. "Your cast is not fitting."

"No…" I uncomfortably began to shift on different feet. "I… suppose it's not becoming on anyone."

He made a brief 'humph' sound and stepped back to pull the door open a bit wider. "Please," he said calmly. "Come inside." I didn't like the dispassionate nature he seemed to be in, but if he wasn't pushing me out, I was thankful. I accepted the invitation and steadily entered the room.

I believe I gasped aloud, but the thoughts in my head were too loud for me to remember correctly. The room was _spotless_. I don't mean dusted or mopped, but _organized_. Everything seemed to have a place, and though there were many things in the room, they all fit together perfectly. It was a sight to behold. A true miracle.

"Holmes!" I laughed. "I'm quite impressed! What caused you to do such a thing?"

"After Lestrade arrested Doctor Fischer (this was apparently his name), I had all the time in the world upon my hands." He made his way across the room and fell into the maroon couch. His dark eyes scanned the bullet-holed wall with a look of distress etched onto his face. "It took me quite a long time, but it's done and is rather comforting in a way."

"Why did you do it?" I mumbled, sitting down on a seat opposite from him. "You could have done anything with your spare time."

"I do not fancy conversations or gatherings of any kind. If I could choose, I would choose to be alone… and fixing up my own place of residence was what I decided upon." The sentence made my presence seem uncomfortable, and I wondered if I should leave quite soon. Holmes was obviously displeased by my showing up. He made no warm gestures and seemed entirely ill at ease with my appearance. "I did it," he interrupted my thoughts. "Because I was worried that perhaps another patient would come to the hospital and you would have to give up your room. Your house, no offense is intended, is much too small for your mother to care properly for you. Mine is not much better, but I had figured you might like to stay here. It is in a closer vicinity to a doctor and if Watson needed to, he could come back."

My eyebrows raised in astonishment. Holmes had broken his misanthrope ways in order to make me feel more comfortable. I had many things I wished to say to him at that moment, but I struggled to find the words. I stared at his worn-out face as he looked only upwards. If he_ had_ looked at me, I was certain I would rush to him and shower him with affections. Perhaps it was best if he continued his gaze elsewhere.

"Why did you do it?" He repeated my question.

"I'm sorry?"

"Rush in front of me…" He muttered, scooping his violin off the floor. His fingers strummed the strings indolently. "You had no reason to do such a reckless thing. You had no right to risk your _own_ health for my own-"

"I had every right. It is my own body and I can do what I please with it."

His voice gradually got louder the more we talked. Anger with the other's lack of respect towards themselves was written on each of our tongues as we exchanged shouts. "You think very little of what you do. You just do it without a care as to whom it might affect."

"You think I wasn't thinking of you? Or my mother, for that matter? Or myself? Of course I was! And if I think very little of what I do next, where do you suppose I picked that up from?"

"Are you suggesting that I make things up as they occur to me?"

"I am not suggesting it; I am telling it! You experience sensations one minute and stem off from them. I did you a favor. I did _myself_ a favor by taking that bullet from you. I watched you suffer for too long in that dreadful hole beneath the Earth and I knew that neither of us could go through that again if we wanted to stay sane with our own minds!" I felt my body rise from the chair without my thoughts attached to it. My shoulder began to hurt even more, but I ignored the thought and continued on my rant. "Don't talk to me as though I have no feelings or no concern for you! If I could turn back a clock, I would certainly repeat what I had done! I saved you from more pain and I am pleased with that! You have no right to criticize me, Sir. No right whatsoever."

There was a long pause until anyone spoke again. I remained standing and he remained sitting. We stared at one another in heated pursuit, but I could never have guessed what he said next. "Renadale… I wish for you to be with me." My body froze into a state of stiffness. Had he ignored everything I said? Such an outlandish suggestion seemed out of place and very unlike him. I was too startled to speak, but I'm certain my expression showed my confusion. "You have just now confessed that we care for one another, and there is no other way to make things seem more logical than if you were to live with me…" He paused for a moment, his eyes still avoiding mine. "…here."

"You… are being illogical, though you claim to be speaking of logic. You know very well that neither of us could do such a thing. You need you space and I need mine. Not to mention," I lulled in my speech, thinking of the society in London. "It is entirely against everything in the world if an unmarried man and woman were to live with one another."

"Our habits coincide nicely. This is something you cannot deny. Watson is gone and his room is available. As for London's opinion, I care little for it."

"I cannot take Watson's room. I cannot live with you. That would be highly frowned upon by everyone, _especially_ my mother, and you cannot expect that-"

"Live as my partner as Watson once did. It is not odd if it is for an occupation. You won't share my room. I shall install a door to separate us. If we speak little of it, it shall be of little of importance to anyone but us."

"It's a brash suggestion and I will not readily agree to it."

He said nothing to this. I watched him carefully, trying to detect any sign of mockery. He wanted me to live with him? How un-Holmes and bizarre an idea seemed! We would certainly drive one another mad… wouldn't we?

"You're right," he suddenly sighed. He leaned his back against the chair, his eyes finally connecting with mine after what seemed like ages. "It would be a social suicide for us to even think of living near one another. You would find little comfort in my company if we were with one another most of the day, and perhaps I would feel the same with you."

I wanted to tell him he was wrong. The thought of living with him would be some sort of heaven for me, but I could not confess such a feeling. I stared at him with as much morose as I could without giving myself away. "Yes," I muttered. "A very foolish idea."

We stared silently at one another, both of our argumentative mouths closed. His chest heaved as much as mine. We had said everything we needed to and now there was nothing left to be said. Thoughts of Lestrade, the case, _everything_, was vanished from my mind. I would never have expected such a thing to occur when I was walking towards 221 B Baker Street. But it had. And now I felt very out of place. "I think I should leave," I whispered. "Thank you again for you kindness. It will no doubt be repaid in the future."

I turned away from him until something sharp grabbed my arm. I winced in surprised, and looked down to see him hand. He was inches away from me, his face daringly close to mine. We stared at one another in silence. "Holmes-" I began. Seconds later, I felt him pull me firmly against him. He pressed his lips urgently to mine, but with a sort of calmness that I could not explain. My eyes stayed open as thoughts of confusion flooded through my mind. How inappropriate of a time for a kiss!

After a moment, we separated ourselves to look at one another. The question still lingered in his eyes. "Alright," I breathed out without thinking. "I will live with you."

I was a very stupid girl.


	28. Elementary, Mister Holmes

"You _what_?"

My mother's shrill cry could no doubt be heard by all of London. I winced as she rose instantly from her seat at our kitchen table. My mother was snappy as it was, but when she was upset, you knew you had to be mindful of what you said. Her cheeks turned ruddy the more the idea came into her conscience. "Do you hear yourself, Renadale? Did you _really_ just hear what you just asked me? Did you understand the gravity of it?"

"View it as a professional living arrangement," I urged, trying to slip a chuckle in my words to blow off steam. It came out very hesitantly and I could tell she remained unimpressed. "I promise you that I wasn't the one to bring up the idea. However, ever since he mentioned it…" I was stumbling over my own opinions. How pathetic! "It didn't seem so appalling! I mean, when can you recall me staying here other than to sleep?"

"Is that why you think I care? Because I hardly see you anymore?" She laughed bitterly beneath her breath. "When this case is over, which will be today after the hanging, then you'll be able to return here. You won't have to go gallivanting all over England!"

"Mother-"

"Don't even deny it, Renadale Adkins." Oh, splendid. The entire name came out. That's when you know it's serious. "If word gets out that you're living with him, the _whole_ of London's good society will be completely erased from our awareness. An unmarried woman and unmarried man living together with no intention to be married is out of the question!" Something in my heart twisted as those words were spoken. I couldn't place a finger on what it was. "Do you understand that?"

"No," I mumbled. "I don't see why it's important to keep them as friends if they view us as nothing more than amusing …"

By the sour look on her face, I could tell that wasn't the answer she wanted. She pointed a threatening finger in my face. Her fury was too high for proper words. I pulled back a little from her, but I could read the expression on her face better than ever. _Not another word. _

Before leaving our kitchen she shook her head. My mother was obviously disappointed with me even _mentioning_ Sherlock's request. The bad thing was, and I hadn't mentioned this to her, I had already told him my answer. I stood alone in my kitchen while an uneasy feeling begin to spread through my stomach. I shut my eyes and let out an unsteady sigh. For once, I wished my thoughts could be kept straight.

I wanted this. I wanted to be close to him, no matter how uncomfortable others may have viewed it as. Being near him as much as possible… Well, the entire idea seemed very surreal. And the best part was that he was the one who mentioned it. Not me. He must hold some strong feelings for me, right? If he suggested such an idea? Or was it really just brash and in the moment?

Slowly, I slid my feet over to our kitchen counter. I stared down at a half cut loaf of bread. It was the only food in sight. Just staring at it, I could feel my eyes burning. My mother had little as it was. After my father died, she had to find a job. That was difficult considering she had never worked and because many of the women already had solidified workers in their shop. We were fine, but we could have been much better. If I acted more womanly, and found myself a strong and suitable husband, we could have been far better off.

Edward's face flickered through my mind. The thought stung at my brain long enough for a headache to form. I had to push it away. I had to push _him_ away. Those days were over.

I sighed once again, slowly shoving a piece of bread in my mouth. In the back of my mind, someone was lecturing me. _Family comes first. You would leave your mother alone to be with him? You would continue showing up and leaving at random times without a word of notice? How scared she must be for you, Renadale. How awful of you. How awful._

"What am I supposed to do?" I whispered in frustration. However, I couldn't dwell on those thoughts. That day was a significant day. There were issues that I needed to focus on first before I decided what to do about Holmes.

It was the day of the hanging. Holmes and I were informed that we could go. We were informed that we _should _go. Why would you want to watch someone suffer? I never understood. I knew he was a bad man, but did I want to watch him choke until his memories of life were gone? No. I didn't.

I had been 'cordially' invited to come and witness the event, first hand, up close, and with a viewing of the body afterwards. It was a reward for my work with Holmes. I wasn't sure if Holmes would be there, but I knew that if he wasn't, I would certainly leave. I knew I would be emotionally unstable if he wasn't there… I wouldn't be able to watch someone die with ease. Although we all knew the horrors he created, I couldn't find comfort with the idea. I just couldn't.

My mother's voice rang out from down the hallway. "I'm going out. I don't know when I'll be back. If you're not here…" She said nothing for a long time, and afterwards I heard the door slam shut. Pathetically, my exhausted body sunk down into a wooden chair at our kitchen table. Nothing made me feel worse than my mother's evident displeasure.

But, I couldn't sit and mope around for too long. I had a hanging to go to.

I waited a few moments to make sure that my mother was actually gone. I didn't want her to see me leaving so soon after our argument. That would only strengthen her point of me never being home and make me feel worse.

I grabbed a long, brown coat off of the rack and buttoned it tightly around my waist. I could hear the whistling of the calm wind seeping through the door, taunting me. It was going to be a cold and dreary day. As I headed towards the door, I caught a glance of myself in the mirror. Normally, I didn't stop to turn around and look, but something was different that day.

Staring at myself, I couldn't recognize what stared back. My curls had flattened out into waves. I wondered how long it had been since I'd bathed, but didn't want to think of the answer. The black bags under my eyes had disappeared somewhat since I had left so much at the surgeon's. My skin was clean and pale from the recent stormy London days. I wanted to hate myself. I wanted to point right at my own face and say, "You are a disgrace to your father. You leave your mother alone, you lack in personal hygiene and you do nothing for the health of this family." I wanted to scold myself; to explain my faults. I wanted to fix them. I wanted to do better.

I couldn't think that way no matter how much I tried. The longer I looked at myself, the more acceptable I was beginning to feel. Maybe I had done something good. I was helping Holmes, wasn't I? He needed me, in a way. Or, so he said. I had done a good service to the people of my city. I took a bullet for Sherlock Holmes. He was the man they needed most.

However, looking at myself for longer than a minute made me feel very narcissistic and I quickly left the house without turning back. I could smell and see the thick, yellow fog that was so accustomed to London the moment I passed the threshold. The mud that was spread across the ground splashed up onto my boots before I even walked four steps away from my home. I grimaced at the disgusting day. How fitting for the occasion.

The cold air stung my skin like an adder. I bit down on my paling lips and wondered if a carriage was perhaps in order. Pathetically, I pulled out my small velvet purse and glanced down at the few coins I had left. "Sorry mates," I whispered to my change. "I was hoping to hang onto you as well."

I passed them over to a coach and asked him to take me to Baker St. I wanted to make sure Holmes was going before I went. I wouldn't be able to handle it myself.

While I rode in silence for a few minutes, thoughts of my mother kept flooding back to me. Tiredly, I leaned my head against the cold, fogged-up window and shut my eyes for a moment. I had to tell Holmes what she said. I had to tell him that the answer was no, despite my own wishes. It would be best for all of us in the end. Perhaps this whole thing could have been avoided if I would have just thought before I agreed.

Unfortunately, and I'd been noticing this a lot since I met Sherlock Holmes, the past is a thing you can't alter.

"Here you are, Miss," the coachman said as he pulled open the door for me. I smiled gratefully and hopped off the steps into another large puddle. Both he and I looked at it with shame. "Try your best to avoid those, Miss. Save all of the change you've got. There's plenty more storms were that came from."

As the horse clipped away, no other words seemed so true.

_There's plenty more storms were that came from. _

I stood in the middle of that cobblestone road, as unmoving as the Thames that morning. My eyes glanced around as people passed me. None seemed to pay attention to anything but the man or woman on their right, or their own feet. Occasionally, one of the finely dressed women would glance at the paper the newsboy was thrusting in their face, but they shrugged it off as they did everything else. My mouth formed into a momentary frown. These people have no idea of the nightmares that exist. They only care for themselves.

"I didn't expect you to be here, and yet somehow I'm not surprised."

My eyes glanced upwards to reassure myself of who it was. Holmes stood, staring straight ahead along with me. Both of our faces were impassive, but we knew the other had something to say. "Are you going to the hanging?" I asked softly. He nodded in response. We were both clearly not looking forward to it.

"Come, let's walk together."

He briefly touched my arm, urging me to follow him. As I trailed away from Baker street, my mind kept coming up with scenarios of what exactly I should say.

"_My mother's ill."_

"_It's too unacceptable."_

"_We would drive one another insane."_

"_Watson is sure to come back."_

"_I just can't."_

"_We just can't."_

"Renadale," his voice broke my thoughts. I looked up to him with wide eyes, but he still wore that same dark stare. His russet eyes stared ahead and I could see then how tired he was. "You don't need to explain to me… I already know what you wish to share."

I opened my mouth to say something in response, but choked on my own words. I found it best to bite my lip and say nothing for fear of saying something irrational as I often did. He knew. After we kissed, it was just obvious. There wasn't a very large chance of us living together as an unmarried couple, no matter how much both of us wanted it.

And it was obvious that Holmes would never consider a marriage.

At least not with me.

That thought teased me for a while and sent a pitifully empty feeling towards my stomach. I sighed sympathetically. That was the truth and I knew it. When you know the truth, though it's hard to accept it, you just have to face it. I had to accept that we would probably not ever get married. He was not that kind of man. And I was not the kind of girl he _should_ marry if he ever were to. Briefly, Irene's face flashed through my mind. When would we see her again? I looked towards him, matching her face in my head with his real one beside me. How lovely they were together. How fitting.

"Some people don't notice anything around them."

My feet halted for a moment. Holmes stopped walking and turned to face me, his face still baring no sign of sentiment. He smiled lightly while taking my hand gently in his. "Come on," he said, pulling me along. "I wasn't speaking of you."

"Oh," I laughed nervously. Slipping my hand away from his, I went to tuck a strand of curls behind my ear. He let his hand hang limply at his side for a moment before tucking it into his coat pocket. The air between us was once again unfamiliar. "Who were you talking about?" I asked softly.

His eyes darted from the men and women briskly walking around us. A couple of them paused, pointing up at him with recognition on their faces. Of course they knew who he was. He was a growing legend, especially after the Blackwood case. "No one person in particular. You walk among these streets and gain of sense of realization. Hardly anyone has interest in one another anymore. They're all out and about for their own benefit. It's as though nothing really seems to matter. People seem to be emotionless objects… The humanity is slowly slipping from us."

"It's almost like a…"

"It's like a game of shadows," he smirked. "A game of shadows where no matter how real you are, everyone can walk right through you."

A smile began to slip onto my face. "Yes, Mister Holmes." I laughed gently. "That's no doubt a very good comparison."

"How do you see things, Miss Adkins? How do you view society? I've always been curious to see inside that head of yours."

We walked in silence for a while as thoughts from my past floated into my head. So many experiences… So many unexpected lessons… Where would I start? What did I make of the world? How did I feel about the people in my life? It was a heavy question.

From my left, I heard a soft sound ring out in the quietness of the alley way. I turned my head briefly, but stopped altogether when I saw the figure. It was a young boy. His face was soft and his hair was golden. He stood with his tatter-gloved hands holding one another in the bitterly cold wind. His eyes were staring upwards towards the sky. He was clearly in deep concentration. It wasn't difficult to note what he was focusing on as the soft rise and fall of a melody slipped from his lips.

Holmes noticed I stopped to watch. He stood by my side, but I could feel his eyes on me and not the boy. Why had I stopped to watch this young child sing? I wanted to look up at him, but I couldn't. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. The more I stared at him, the more my answer to Holmes's question was becoming clear.

"The frozen streets in moonshine glitter, the midnight hour has long been past, ab' me the wind blows keen and bitter," the words danced from him mouth. The street was decently quiet and his voice rose above any other noise going on. We watched in silence."I fink beneath the piercing blast, in every vein seems life to languish, their weight my limbs no more can bear. But, no one soothes the orphan's anguish, an' no one heeds the Orphan's pray'r."

I could feel Holmes's eyes on me again. I knew the boy was done for the moment, as he began to cough bitterly into his fist. Watching him struggle made me perk up instantly. Quickly, I pulled out my purse. However, I was disappointed to realize that I had spent the last of my coins on the coach. Holmes words began to echo in my head.

_"__Hardly anyone has interest in one another anymore. They're all out and about for their own benefit."_

My sadness was beginning to grow. I wanted to give the boy something, but I had none to spare. I had spent it all on my own accord, and the more I realized it, the sooner I wanted to leave that area. Feelings of more regret were washing over me and after the discussion with my mother, I didn't know if I could handle any more.

I went to urge Holmes to leave, but saw he was no longer there. My eyes scanned around the area for the sight of him. He was crouched down next to the boy, whispering something to him. The boy wore a smile on his face and coughed ever-so-slightly in his hand. Holmes slipped his something in his small, cracked fingers and then returned to me. "I told him it was from you," Holmes whispered in my ear. "You might want to give him a smile. He's awfully grateful."

I raised my eyes back to the boy to find him grinning at me with undeniable gratification. My mouth split into a wide grin as I watched him run off happily with his cash. He deserved every cent. "Thank you," I said, facing Holmes. "Thank you for doing that."

"I could see how much you wanted him to have it."

I nodded. "As for your question… Sometimes people seem difficult, but the answer is much simpler. I think life is a beautiful thing. Though we seem quite conceited, I believe that's perhaps because we haven't gotten to really know the other. Listening to that child's voice…" My words trailed off. His light voice traveled again through my ears, though he was long gone. "It made me realize that you can't have everything in life. But, there's someone out there who will admire something about you."

Nothing was needed to be said afterwards. I glanced up at him momentarily, hoping he could tell what I meant; hoping he could understand my personal meaning behind those words. I knew by the steady gaze he gave me. He understood.

"Renadale," he said softly. "That's a very fitting answer."

"I'm pleased with it."

"Good," he said, managing a small smile. "Because you'll need to keep thinking about how beautiful life can be, considering where we're headed." He gently began to pull me along once again, further down the road. My stomach sank more and more when I realized what he was talking about. The entire hanging had somehow vanished from my mind. Now, it took its spot comfortably back into my conscience.

We were heading towards a quieter area of London where the hangings took place. It was inside of a building. Holmes explained on the way there that Blackwood had been 'hung' there. Watson had also failed to claim his rightful state of being there as well. The mere mention of Watson caused a shadow to fall over Holmes's face. His eyes scanned the gravel road momentarily, before he coughed and returned to his explanations.

"It won't be many of us. Just, you, me, Lestrade, and a few other doctors and police."

"How exciting," I grumbled sarcastically.

"It's the end of the end, Miss Adkins." His voice was deep and bitter as he spoke. It was the end of another case and everything about life was changing. Watson was getting married. Irene had left. Who knows what I would do? What would Holmes do? Reminders of him fighting and experimenting with drugs struck me like lightening. Fear began to bubble up in my stomach, and my instant reaction was to reach out and grab him. He stared down at my arm for a moment, before raising a brow. "Did something… startle you, Miss Adkins?"

"Promise me you won't go back into that arena," I spat out.

His eyes grew wide for a moment, before he plastered a frown on his face. "Sorry. You briefly reminded me of someone else." I could tell that was a warning, but I ignored it. "I can't promise you anything, Renadale. You saw very clearly yourself that I can handle that area of expertise. Or else… I wouldn't call it an expertise."

"Yes, but is it vital?" Nervous laughs began to fall from my lips. "I mean; is getting hit in the face and breaking your ribs needed?"

He stared at me for a while, before gently removing my hand from his arm. "Is making inventions that you never announce needed?"

Somehow his words stung. I winced back in offense, my eyes glued to the puddle beneath my feet. "No," I whispered. "Because my inventions were failures."

"Aha," he said with fake realization. "There's the catch. You see, my boxing is not." He said nothing else after that and continued waking on without me. I stood in shock; appalled by his statement. Yet, he was right. I had to give him that much. I couldn't be upset with him on a day like that. It wasn't the first time I had noticed his mood-changing tendencies. I would need him later. Better to just forget the whole thing.

I caught up with him quickly, but held my tongue. Holmes always ended up saying something smarter than me. I wasn't about to be easily defeated again. I didn't have to wait very long, as we soon reached the building.

"And here it is," he said gloomily. "The moment we've all been waiting for…"

"Perhaps we should go in quickly, shut our eyes, and get this all over with."

"You can't let them see you shutting your eyes," Holmes chuckled, smiling down towards me. "That would be a detective's suicide. You have to face the end as well as you faced the beginning."

I couldn't suppress laughter from escaping my throat. "As well as I handled the beginning? Well, goodness, I'd be a complete wreck in there if I did that." Holmes smiled as well as we stood laughing. We both knew our conversation wasn't that humorous, but a laugh was what we needed.

However, we were caught off guard by the creaking of a door. Both of our eyes shot forward to see Clark standing at the threshold behind a green door. "Come in." His voice was melancholy. "They're almost ready." He wasn't pleased to be there anymore than we were. I could read it in his eyes; _When do I get to go home to my family? _

He slipped back inside and I knew that was our cue to move. Somehow, my feet couldn't strip themselves from the street.

_The faster you get in there, the faster you can get out._

We entered the building just as the doors slammed shut behind us. Chills rattled my spine from top to bottom. The hallway stretched long and its walls seemed almost moist beneath the candlelight hanging on the walls. My hands were shaking too much to reach out and touch them, and even if they weren't, I don't think I'd want to. Anyone else would have felt like it was a prison. But, it was worse. This place was literally hell.

"In here, Mister Holmes!" A voice rang out from a room ahead. Holmes began to make his way forward with me lagging behind. My eyes continued to scan the area around me. There was no furniture, no light. There was nothing special about the place at all. Couldn't they have made it somewhat nice? A nice photo or something? I frowned to myself just thinking about it. Of course not. There was nothing to celebrate in that place. There was no need for beauty.

As we stepped into the execution room an aroma hit me. It was like the shops not far from our house. Flower shops. The sharp, yet sweet scent flooded into my nose. Roses. I turned my head, trying to find the source. There was nothing. Nothing but that smell.

In the center stood a tall platform with crooked stairs leading up to the lasso; eager for a neck in its grasp. Viewing platforms were placed on the edges of the room where men like Clark and Lestrade stood watching… waiting. No windows were to be seen. The whole place was a dungeon, but only one was doomed.

Holmes seemed to take no notice of anything. He had been there before. It was nothing new to him. I could see him glancing towards the door where a group of doctors stood. Something flickered in his eyes for a brief second before vanishing. It was obviously a longing for his dear friend to come back to work. His _real_ occupation, as Holmes had announced more than once.

Thoughts didn't have a lot of time to last in that room. Shortly after we entered, so did Dr. Fischer.

His head was down. Hands tied behind his back. Men were shoving his frail body towards the center platform. No choice. No going back. Only one way out.

I watched with discomfort as did everyone else. Dr. Fischer was not young. He was an elder to nearly everyone in the room, and yet we were sending him away from this world as quickly as he had entered it. My eyes told me I should watch, but my heart said no, and turned them towards the wooden floorboards.

My ears were unable to hide. I was forced to listen as the announcements were made.

"Doctor Charles R. Fischer…" An aged voice rang out above us all. I glanced up towards a tall podium on the other side of the room only to see another older man. He was just as old as Dr. Fischer. His eyes were downcast and he read the words with ease. I turned away, unable to comprehend what was about to happen. "You are sentenced to death for the unethical planning of the unholy murder of five innocent persons-"

"Innocent?" An unmistakable voice shot up. No one's heads failed to snap towards Dr. Fischer. He stood, his eyes suddenly wild compared to the hauntingly quiet nature in which he entered. All of the men in the room stiffened as they watched the guards try and calm him down. "You _think _they were innocent!" He was screaming now. Screaming out his last words. Screaming to make sure that we all heard what he had to say. "That's your problem, you damned fools! The only thing you know is that-" His words were cut short as the men began to choke him by shoving fabric between his teeth. He was shouting, lashing out, and tearing away from them as much as he could.

I watched with horror. All of the pity I had left for this man had disappeared. I should have known that moment was not my moment to speak, but something in me stirred. Everything I had witnessed. Edward. The innocent young boy. Watson struggling with Mary. Holmes nearly dying. Irene. My own mother's tears. They were all because of this case. They were all because of him. I wasn't going to let him speak his mind so easily. Not without hearing mine. "Of course they were innocent!" The words fell from my mouth without any warning. In the back of my mind, I could hear myself, _Renadale! Be quiet! What are you doing? You're only making this situation worse!_ But, I couldn't stop. I just kept shouting and shouting as the man watched me; his eyes flashing red. "How _dare_ you claim that someone's life is corrupt because of your own morals! How long have you lived believing that everyone had to be what you wanted them to be?" I could feel Holmes trying to grab me. I shoved him off and stepped closer to the platform. "You're the furthest thing from it!"

"Renadale," I heard Holmes whisper beside me. His words were said through clenched teeth and he latched onto my arm determined to not let go. "You need to calm yourself."

"Why? So he can dishonor the women and men he killed? So he can hurt me even more than he already has?" Edward's pale face flickered through my mind. The funeral, the tears, and the darkness that possessed me. What gave the man on that podium any right to make me feel the way I had? I was Renadale Adkins. He had no idea who that was. Pray tell, who gave him the honor of making my life miserable?

"Miss Adkins!" The old man shouted out. I slowly turned my face upwards, locking eyes with him on the podium. "If you cannot contain your emotions, I must ask you to leave. This is a civil place. We must continue on with Her Majesty's duties."

Every sense of my body became attuned as I stared at him. I could feel my chest heaving heavily as my heart racked against my ribs. The bottom of my eyes prickled with hot tears, and my arm was sore where Holmes was latching onto it. My head slowly lowered as I felt all eyes directed towards me. "I-I'm sorry… your honor."

A silence lingered over all of us. In the pause, I shut my eyes. The smell of roses still taunted me.

Holmes stared at me for a while with great sympathy in his eyes. Everyone did. I felt their stares and still could have felt them had I been miles away. It was as though I was the one who needed to be watched carefully and not the doctor.

I didn't look up after that.

"You are sentenced to death…" the old man softly continued. "…for the planning of the unholy murders of five innocent persons, unlawful anatomy practices, and the attempted murders of numerous others."

Though Holmes's arm had fallen from my own, I could sense him tense up without even looking towards him. He had been one of the others. Thank God for the word 'attempted'.

And then, the words came. During the time, it seemed so slow. Everything seemed like an illusion; a realm of a dream. We were all waiting for it.

The question.

And finally, it had come. I could feel my feet shaking in my boots. I shut my eyes momentarily, but somehow couldn't reopen them. Each word was like a piercing heartbeat. We were so close to the end.

"Do-" First heartbeat.

"You-" Another one, for good measure.

"Have-" A third, for compensation.

"Any-" Four. Your life is nearly over.

"Last-" Five. So close to the end.

"Words?"

Cautiously, I began to raise my head. Everyone in the room was staring at Fischer after the rag was pulled from his mouth. I watched as he finally opened his mouth to a smirk. No one could have guessed what words came next.

"And the earth opened her mouth, and swallowed them up, and their houses, and all the men that appertained unto Korah, and all their goods. They, and all that appertained to them, went down alive into the pit, and the earth closed upon them: and they perished from among the congregation…"

Black bag. Shoving him forward. A rope around his neck. Hands still tied. Head up high. The _rip_ of a rope tightening. One. Two. Three.

_Chunk._

Floorboard down. Body down. Head down. Squirming. Withering. Words cut short. Words of the Lord. Words from His stories. Words I knew. Numbers 16:32-35. Why had he chosen such words?

Maybe I would have thought little of it. Maybe it would have been unimportant… those words he picked, perhaps they meant little. But, somehow they struck me. And I knew why. When he said them… When he whispered those harsh words… He had been staring straight towards me.

I wasn't the only one who noticed. We watched for a while; my mouth gaping. I felt numb watching him. Numb. Frozen. Too breathless to move. Too weak to talk. Was I the last person he saw before he died? Men had noticed his line of vision. They did a double-take and saw that he was in fact staring towards me. Once it was over and the body was cut down and taken to examination, Holmes immediately pulled me away.

"Let's not stay," he mumbled, tugging me towards the door. "Let's just go."

"He was looking at me…" I choked out as I was tugged back down the hallway in which we entered. "He was looking at me, I _know_ he was…"

"Stop it," he said firmly. His eyes stared straight ahead. He never once looked back towards me. There was an edginess in his voice. One that I didn't approve of. "That sort of thinking won't get you anywhere, Miss Adkins. Build a wall around yourself. Don't let your emotions get in the way of things."

I wanted to keep tossing out questions, just so I could satisfy my nerves with an answer. I didn't care if it was real or not. But, I knew I would get nowhere. I held my tongue as Holmes pulled me back outside. "Where are you taking me?" I muttered, my stomach still doing flip flops. The creak of the falling platform was replaying in my head over and over. I wanted to talk just to shut out the noise.

"Back home."

"Why?" I said, pulling my arm away from him. "I can't go back home! I can't be alone after that! My mother won't understand. I'll be sitting in my room for hours, just wondering what…"

"View it as good practice for you, Renadale," Holmes sighed as he flagged down a carriage. "Build a wall against your own feelings. Stay behind it. Don't let your emotions get in the way of what happens around you. It only makes things harder." His eyes looked everywhere but me. I could have sworn I felt his hands were shaking as he held onto my arms. "I'm sorry you had to witness that." His voice dropped instantly. "It wasn't rational for me to even mull over letting you go."

He was struggling somehow. He wasn't staying behind his own psychological wall. He was failing miserably at it, and though he retained his composure as much as he could, I could sense it in him. "No," I sighed. "Don't apologize. I'm alright." We looked at one another and knew it wasn't true. Everything was so different now. Things were confusing and more complex than ever, even though the case was over. We both knew it, and yet neither of us wanted to discuss it.

"Of course you are, Miss Adkins," he said as he smiled as much as he could. "You somehow always manage to be."

"I suppose I've had a bit of practice."

Our smiles didn't last long. We got into the carriage quietly, and stayed that way for a while after it kept going.

From the corner of my eye, I could see something moving silently by the window. Both of us turned to see a black spider crawling against the silhouette of the London streets. It moved carefully; each arch of its legs meaningful. The creature was calm and unthreatening. Our presence was sensed, but it believed we would not harm him. Or, so it thought. I saw Holmes begin to raise his hand, no doubt to smash it. "No," I said, quickly grabbing his wrist. "Just let it live." He slowly lowered his arm. "It won't hurt us. That's not its intention."

"Orb spider," he declared as he leaned closer towards it. "Not commonly found indoors, so it's no surprise that it happened to be crawling around outside."

I scoffed, unable to resist a smile. "How can you tell it's such a spider?"

He pointed towards its small body. The creature stood completely still as Holmes began to analyze it. "It's always difficult because such a species ranges from size and color. However, their abdomens give off a swollen effect. Very common. Their webs are interpreted by us to be the most beautiful of sorts." He strained his eyes closer towards the bug, but then leaned back in disinterest as though his deduction methods meant little to him. Naturally, I was impressed.

"So, it won't hurt us."

He glanced up at me as locks of hair fell into his eyes. He brushed them away carefully and managed another smile. "Only if you're a fly. Some even say they eat their own webs." His eyes flickered with interest towards the spider, before locking connection with my eyes. "It's fascinating you, isn't it?"

I nodded. "Nearly everything you say ends up being fascinating to me. I'm quite the admirer."

Holmes looked at me with an expression of surprise. "Well, thank you, Miss Adkins."

I would have put money down to say that his cheeks had flustered at my comment. Holmes kept to himself and didn't often take compliments. He knew they were out there, but they seemed to bewilder him. That only made him more appealing, and I couldn't resist a small chuckle. He always seemed to take my mind off of everything else. Talking to him about the irrelevant spider distracted me from the day's events. I could have talked about such pointless things all day with him, and kept perfectly interested. For the sake of his boredom however, I switched topics to something more relevant.

"This case was rather stressful. I do think that the case was less complex than others you've experienced. Well, no matter… It's over now."

"It took a while to solve it. There's no debating that." Holmes mumbled with a raise of his brow. "But, in the sense of thought process to the killing or conclusions, it was really rather… Well… It was much underplayed. It was far too scattered for anyone to see clearly. A wise method, I suppose, but…"

I searched my mind for the correct word. "…Elementary?"

"Yes," he chuckled. "_Elementary._ Fantastic term." He smiled at me from across the coach, and despite the day's events, that one smile made my whole day worthwhile. "I may have to use that sometime."

I smiled and leaned back in my seat. That was enough to put me at ease.


	29. Think Fast

My life is a weighted scale. When I want something, it goes to one side of my mind. All other attentions drop, and everything is focused on that one thing. Suddenly, I want something else. I want it easily, quick and without any argument. That desire takes over the rest of my brain, and balances out the scale. I have to sit and wait until they even out. Sometimes, I watch them wobble back and forth in my head, or wait until one sinks completely. One may dominate the other. They may be equal. I am not talented when it comes to certainty. I never was. I probably never will be.

Often, when I'm stressed about things, or uncertain about what to do next, cleaning is an escape for me. Polishing other things makes me forget that my own life is left tainted. I hadn't been at my home for nearly an hour until a knocking stopped me from my cleaning. It was brusque, strident and to the point. Whoever it was, they wanted in quickly. Only three more seconds until…

_Knock knock knock knock knock._

_Oh, _I laughed bitterly to myself as I placed my broom atop the table, _how perfectly spot on I was; the little things Holmes teaches me. And why so many knocks? They must be urgently wishing to see me. Who on Earth could that be?_

My tired feet briskly slugged me over to the door where I pulled back the handle with hesitation. "Yes?" I mumbled before I even got the chance to look up and see my guest.

Brilliant blue eyes. Hair falling in chestnut waves. A smile as amiable as ever. A face unexpected, but one that would always be welcome in my heart and home. I had to clasp a hand over my mouth to stop my excited laughter. "John!" All formality between us was lost for the moment in my state of shock. "Could it be you? Are you back in London so soon? I feel as though I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Rena!" He said before stepping inside. His face was just as glowing as the first time I had met him and once the door was tightly shut he pulled me into his arms. I could feel my cheeks growing red at the mere touch of him, an almost married man, but I was undoubtedly gladdened to see him. "I realize it hasn't been extensive, but being away from you two _does_ make for some stretched and quiet days."

"I'm sure Mary keeps you busy," I chuckled, nudging him playfully on the arm. "The wedding is coming up very soon, isn't it?" _Wedding_. Somehow the word struck me as lovely. I'd never thought much on the topic before, but at that moment the mere word sounded exquisite rolling off the tongue. Visions of white dresses, large flowers and charming hair flashed through my mind. Watson deserved a woman like Mary; kind, loyal, yet still with a mind of her own. She must have been dreaming of the upcoming day for months.

I, on the other hand, had never been the kind girl who dreams of her day in white lace. I often protested the idea with modest innocence. However, the more wrinkles began to appear in my face, and the older I began to feel, I could see why marriage was so appealing to some women. Professing love; love that will never fade. Till death do you part. It was sacred in a way.

"It's coming up sooner than I hoped," Watson replied. I was startled from my thoughts instantly. "Mary, however, doesn't wish to have too much help on this. I felt bad enough as it was working on this case, but now that I'm available she doesn't even want me around! I knew she was an independent woman, but I suppose I never really knew until about a week ago." Though his words could have been taken as bitter, the dreamy smile on his face portrayed his true affections. He was in awe. He was clearly in love. I sighed inwardly with admiration.

"I daresay I haven't seen you look any happier, Watson." He nodded in the sense that he had little words to express his glee. I noticed his hat and suddenly began to feel embarrassed. My mother was always the hostess. She never bothered to teach me. _And she wonders why I'm not more of a lady. _"Please," I smiled. "Do make yourself at home. There's not much around here, but I could fetch you a cup of tea, if you'd like."

"That's alright, Rena, don't trouble yourself," he said quickly with a raise of his gloved hands. "I'm not staying long. I would love to, but unfortunately I can't. Holmes asked me to fetch a few things for him, and is expecting me soon." Watson rolled his eyes. "I'm here for three minutes, and already he has me shopping."

"Perhaps you needn't get married," I smirked. "It seems you already have a nagging wife."

Watson rolled his eyes. There was no denying that. "I was a bit surprised to see you weren't there with him," he said softly. His eyes locked with mine, and somewhere in our gaze he read my thoughts. _He didn't seem to want me there. _"Whatever this is, don't let it trouble you. Holmes has a way of saying what he doesn't mean, and meaning what he doesn't say. It gets very frustrating, but I'm sure if I can manage to figure it out after all these years, you can too."

"Well, thank you," I chuckled gently. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

"I would love to stay and chat, but I'm afraid I really must be off." Watson's voice held an honest hint of resentment. "When he said you were home, I knew I had to see you. It was lovely. I know you'll be around soon, yes?"

I nodded gently, hoping that would be the case. My mind tricked itself far too often. One day I wanted to be with Holmes, the next I thought it would be best that I wasn't. Who knew what I would feel tomorrow? Just before Watson left, a thought landed itself in my mind. "Wait! Watson, what have you come back to town for?"

"Wedding preparations," he shouted just before crossing the street. "You know; only things London could have!" With a flick of his wrist and a wave goodbye, he was gone as soon as he had appeared. A sinking feeling rose in my stomach. It was a short farewell, but it tugged at my heartstrings. My dear friend Watson… Someone I would surely miss if they weren't around. Holmes had seemed distant today. I wasn't sure why, but in the back of my mind, I blamed myself.

~.~.~.~.~

The candles I had lit were drowning in their own skin. Their brims were spilling over with wax, and the flame grasped for air as much as it could. I sat quietly at my kitchen table, watching the flames suffer until their dying breaths. Outside, I could hear the evening crowd of London making their way to final destinations for the evening. Some were off to the theatres; some to their lovers. Some were walking about for no reason at all. Some had a reason, but had to keep it secret for moral reasons. They just wanted to get out into the yellow air of London; the putrid, yet somehow beautiful air of London.

The sun was setting, and my mother still wasn't home. She wanted to be away from me; we both needed time. Holmes wanted me to stay home. He _too_ wanted to be away from me. How long had it been since Watson stopped by? Hours. With nothing but the candle and tea to keep me company, I found my thoughts taking over. Thoughts I didn't want to remember, but things I couldn't forget.

"_Renadale," Edward smiled. "That's quite a charming name. Where did you get it from?"_

_I smiled, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. "My father was told that the name Rena meant melody. He didn't think it was enough, so he added 'dale' on the end, for whatever reason. My father had a… unique way of thinking."_

"_Like you," Edward nodded as his eyes glistened by the firelight."Some might be judgmental towards the way your father taught you. Some things seem to be beyond most women's reach, but you're smart. Your mind is a ticking clock, Renadale. Always moving, always taking a step forward."_

_Shakily, I raised my eyes to face his. I felt my hands instinctively move up to tuck another curl behind my ear, but his hand reached out and grabbed it. His fingers were cold against my skin, but I didn't mind. "Don't," he mumbled. "I like your curls."_

I groaned and buried my face in my hands at the memory. His dark hair, dark like my own, sacrificed forever to the cold Earth. So many were dead, and I couldn't help but blame myself. What way was there to find solace? What way could there ever be to live a life like that?

"_So, now that the case is over…" I said to Holmes as we traveled back from the hanging. "What will you do?"_

_Holmes raised his brows, snickering beneath his breath. "That is a very practical question, Miss Adkins. One that you and I should both find the answer to." The carriage bounced up and down for a while in silence over the cobblestones._

"_Right," I mumbled. Thoughts of leaving him couldn't help but bring themselves up. Not leaving as in forever, but just as a partner. I didn't think I could handle much more. Watching a man struggle for his life changed things. It changed everything. Hesitantly, I reached for a falling curl, tucking it behind my ear._

"_Did you get your curls from your father?"_

_It was my turn to raise my brows. "I'm sorry?"_

"_Your father… was his hair curled?"_

"_Yes… He had curls. Though, I can't remember them being any color other than grey." _

"_I see," Holmes muttered, redirecting his gaze back towards the spider on the glass. "Unfortunately, black and white photos wouldn't be much of a help to that research either, would it?" Somehow his question didn't need an answer. My head dropped, and along with it a curl. In annoyance and discomfort, I reached up to tuck it back again. Quickly, I felt Holmes snatch my hand in his. His fingers were gentle against mine. "Don't," he sighed. "If it can't stay away, then don't try to hold it back."_

_I think my eyes must have twinkled._

"_It's just…" He coughed, letting my hand drop. "Gravity."_

Slowly, I began to raise myself off of the kitchen table. His words echoed to me inside my head. Not the part about gravity; that was merely to shake off the uneasiness. "If it can't stay away," I whispered in the solitude. "…then don't try to hold it back."

I didn't want to stay away from him. Why should I hold back?

For a long time, I drummed my fingers on my table, wondering when the opportune moment would be to go to Baker St. The moon has already risen when I finally made my decision, and the river Thames was settled and asleep for the night. I wasn't, however. I wanted to see him, and I wanted to see him soon. He wasn't going to get rid of me that easily. After all, he was still my boss.

~.~.~.~.~

"Mrs. Hudson!" I grinned as Holmes's housekeeper opened the door for me. She seemed shocked to see me, but after a moment smiled back as well. Her mop cap was snug on her head, and the candle made shadows across her face. I could tell she was getting ready for bed. "If you could, please request for Mister Holmes to come down and join me."

She frowned, turning her head around to the clock behind her. "But… Miss Adkins it's very late in the evening." She pointed quickly to her plugged ears. "And the man's already pulled out that blasted instrument of his. I won't reckon he'll want to go out tonight." Whenever Holmes was bored, it was always the violin who suffered.

I nodded, unable to hide a smile. "I know and I'm sorry if I woke you. But, if he'd be willing to, I'd really appreciate him coming down to see me."

She looked at me for a moment with sympathetic eyes. I could see very clearly what she was thinking. _That poor girl; fallen for a mad man who can't seem to play a decent note. _Regardless of her opinion, she agreed and went upstairs to see if she could fetch him. I knew my mother would probably be home soon, and no doubt wonder where I was. But, I had a plan and she wasn't going to ruin it for me. Even if Holmes was bitter about seeing me, I wasn't going to let that spoil things. This was a piece of me that I wanted him to know.

I spun around on my heels, with my back now facing the door. As I breathed into my frigid hands, I stared across the road. People were still out walking around. It was London; it never slept. But, Baker St. always had a way of being much more serene than other streets. I watched a couple holding hands beneath their gloves, whispering sweet nothings to one another. Soon, they were out of sight. Their story would always remain a mystery to me.

"Renadale?"

I spun around. Holmes was dressed in his trench coat, his pipe loosely hanging from his mouth. He stared at me quizzically, obviously a bit displeased to be out in the cold and not knowing as to why. "Oh, hello Mister Holmes."

"Formality?" He mumbled through clenched teeth around his pipe. "Two people standing outside in the London cold and you're expecting us to be formal with one another. Why exactly is it that I am standing outside in the London cold a quarter past ten anyway… _Miss_ Adkins?"

My heart was pounding in my chest. Though is level of sass was at an astounding high, I ignored it. I briefly glanced at his hand to see if it was occupied. Thankfully, it was not. "Come on," I said, putting his hand in mine. His eyes grew wide instantly. If his senses hadn't been in tact because of the wintry night, I believe his pipe would have fallen straight from his mouth. "Don't ask questions. Don't say anything unless I ask you to. Just hold my hand and follow me."

"Miss Adki-"

"Did you not hear what I just said?"

"Touché," he murmured behind a puff of smoke.

I smiled as he kept his silence. He was mindful of other eyes watching us, and having them glance at our clasped fingers. He kept his head down at all times, clearly ashamed of something. Somehow I didn't care. Holmes was a shy man but he was always himself. If he didn't want to hold my hand he would have let go by now.

"Will you grant me permission to speak?" He muttered as we began to walk down a deserted beggar ally.

"I suppose you may, though you'd be breaking my rules."

"I've never really had a knack for rules, Miss Adkins," he smirked. "But, have you been sitting my candlelight?"

I creased my brows together in confusion, but kept my pace. "Curious… How could you tell?"

"I will tell you how, Miss Adkins, but I must say that it is a sworn secret. You must swear to never tell."

I could feel the cold air seeping through my pores and making my bones shiver with excitement. "I promise." He stopped his feet for a moment, despite my tug to move on. "Well?" I mumbled, beginning to feel anxious. My hand slipped from his. "What is it? How can you tell?"

The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. "I haven't the slimmest indication."

"So, the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't know how inquisitive he is?" I chuckled, though by realistic standards, I was very confused as to how he knew. "What a surprise. If you must know, my candle light burnt out about an hour ago. Therefore, I could easily say that you're wrong."

"Yet, we both know I'm not." He always had a way of making me at a loss of words. "With you, I can just tell these things. I can also tell that you've been doing nothing all day but cleaning and thinking."

"That's not fair. Watson came and told you what I was doing."

"Aha," Holmes said, gently pushing me along again. I had lost my focus and stopped completely. Clearly, he was curious as to where I was taking him, and put me back on track. "However, Watson told me that you were cleaning. The thinking part was one that I figured out all myself." We both smiled at one another. When Holmes was playful, it was a pleasant change in character.

As we began to enter the busier streets of nightly London, our voices were lost to others. "You never cease to impress, Mister Holmes," I murmured with a smile. He was behind me however, and surely could not hear me over the carriages and voices on their way to the operas.

"Miss Adkins," his voice mumbled behind me.

"Hold your thoughts, we're almost there."

He said nothing after that. I began to wonder if he was still following me. I glanced slowly over my shoulder to find him still there, but looking very uncomfortable. "Are you alright?" I chuckled, startling him. My voice made no notion to calm him, as his shoulders were still raised and displeasure was apparent on his face. His eyes scanned the people around him. Their eyes met his with some sort of familiarity, but none to express any greetings. "Oh," I mumbled. I knew what was wrong. "I'm sorry. Come, we'll take a quieter route."

Holmes shook his head, forcing a smile onto his face. "Quieter? What purpose would that serve?" Rolling my eyes, I led him towards an empty street. He wouldn't admit to his fear of public, but he didn't need to. I already knew it was there, and I completely understood.

"It's just this way," I sighed as my voice echoed in the calm street. Lamps outside of doors were twinkling in the darkness. Cats and mice could be heard scurrying around us, but I kept my head up and my eyes forward. "Almost there," I smiled back towards him. He merely raised a bow, and puffed out more smoke.

He followed my steps and eventually the clips of our shoes were all that could be heard. The street was certainly not a high end place to be, but it was familiar. I was comfortable there. Though, it'd been such an awfully long time. "Here," I paused outside of a faded olive door. "Open it." Holmes glanced down at the chipped and dented doorknob, clearly not interested at all. His eyes made their way back and forth between the threshold and my eyes, trying to decipher why on Earth I would bring him there. "Just open it," I frowned.

He sighed while tucking away his pipe. "I certainly hope this is worthwhile, Miss Adkins."

"Renadale."

"Renadale, yes," he said as he pushed open the door. "…that's what I meant." We both stood in silence, staring into the darkness of the room before us. The door was flung open, and no noise came from the inside. I could see a look of confusion on Holmes face, but I remained unafraid of the hidden room. "Am I to make an entrance?"

I nodded. But, before he could make his way forward, I felt my own feet tug me along. He watched me carefully from the doorway as I made my way inside the room. Tucked away towards the left side of the room near a fireplace was a single desk. I allowed my hands to run along its dusty top. Softly, I blew against my fingers, sending the dust twirling around my nose. "It's been so long…" My voice dropped. "… I'm not sure why I wanted to bring you here….out of all the people, though, I just wanted to bring you."

Holmes entered the room slowly, but he paid little attention to it as his eyes seemed to focus heavily on me. He watched carefully, trying to detect the emotions glossing over my eyes; something he was generally very good at. With a slight push of his hands, he closed the door behind him. The silence was even more solidified.

A window in the front of the room allowed for a street lamp's beam to coming shimmering in. It laid itself across the floor in a diagonal, yellow line. Resentfully, it reminded me of the museum and the light that spread across Jacob's face.

I watched Holmes make his way around the room to distract my thoughts. Both of our eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, and his interest was suddenly in a book shelf across from me. His fingers respectfully began to glaze over them. He asked no questions, and he held no judgment as to why I brought him there. I waited in silence, watching him.

"Marsh."

"I'm sorry?"

He pulled a faded black book from the shelf, holding it up to the beam of light. "James Marsh detected the presence of arsenic in the human tissue in 1836," His finger pointed to the book's author; James Marsh. Holmes nonchalantly slipped the book back to its rightful place. "Even though the case is over, it's as though the poison is still everywhere around us; even in books."

"What a shame. Books are the greatest gift." I said, and genuinely meant it.

He grabbed another from the highest ledge and carried it over to me. He set it firmly down on the desk in front of me as his eyes remained glued to the cover. I glanced at it briefly, but just by the color I knew what it was. "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland," he smirked. "How exceedingly different. There's only one reason that book would be in a place like this."

Slowly, my eyes lifted to his face. We both knew why the book was there. He smiled, but this time it was not a happy smile. It was not a sad one either, nor one with hidden meaning. It was for my comfort.

"It's mine," I whispered, letting my fingers slip over the inscribed flowers dancing across the leather. "I read it every time I came here. I sat by that very window and read that little book so many times, I believe the cover would have ripped off if I hadn't grown out of it one year earlier."

"This is where your father worked," Holmes deduced. I nodded. "Why did you bring me here?"

My shoulders rose and fell quickly. "I'm not sure," my voice cracked. "You told me that I shouldn't hold back from things I couldn't stay away from." My hand was still pressed against the cold, crumbling cover. I wasn't sure if I would be able to move it, or if it was permanently there. "You can't understand how much I've longed to come back here for this; to smell the scent of this place once again and to feel _his _presence in even the slightest way." My hand fell slowly from the book. "But, I was afraid. I couldn't do it alone." My stomach began to feel empty, like someone was scraping the guts. "I… needed you."

"And will you continue to need me?"

My breath stopped short as I struggled with my answer. We were opposite one another across the table, but his gaze was a bit of secretive as well as mischievous. Was this the question I'd been asking myself? I couldn't lie to him and say yes. What if he wanted my answer to be 'no'? What about the doll beneath the bonnet; Irene Adler? What of my sanity, and my mother? How could I answer such a question to the man it concerned?

"To repeat yourself…" I whispered. "I haven't the slightest clue."

Gently, he scooped up the book in his own hands, and placed it back to its rightful place. I stared at it cynically from where I stood. "That book belongs here," Holmes said, seemingly switching topics. "It's been there for a long time. Somehow, it just needs to stay there with its brothers. It knows where it belongs."

I couldn't help to notice that Holmes wasn't just talking about the book. "Do you think that book is happy?" I asked with a sharp stare.

"I want nothing more than for that book to be happy."

We looked at one another for a long moment. I could feel my father's presence at the workbench behind me. I could hear his voice in my head. _I want nothing more than for you, my dearest girl, to be happy. _

The sound of my father's voice in my head only made the feeling in my stomach worse. "What of you?" I asked suddenly, trying to make his voice leave my head in any way possible. "Will you need me?" Holmes was taken aback by my question, but did not seem so startled as to not supply an answer. "I mean… will you need my help? Watson is here now. I'm no detective. I think we both know that is a key point."

Holmes scuffed the floor with the heel of his boot. His thoughts were lost within themselves, trying to make sense of the strange girl that stood before him. Even I knew how confusing I could be. I didn't blame him for not saying 'yes' right away, though it's certainly what I believed my heart wanted.

"No."

The empty feeling in my gut was flooding back. "No?"

"No, I don't need you to help me," he said calmly. I carefully turned back to him, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest. _Go away, _I cursed at the pain as I gripped the edges of the desk. "Renadale, I neverneeded you to help me. In all reality, do you really thing my inquisitive nature even relied upon Watson to help me? Though he's a doctor, my ability and knowledge of forensics isn't halfway dilapidated enough."

"You're turning this around on Watson too?"

"There's no turning," Holmes said firmly. "I wouldn't have had it any other way."

"Then why keep us here?" I spun around and made my way to the other side of the table. "Why make us feel for you, if you know we do not need you? I know nothing about the life of investigation; all I know is the solitude of my own room, and the inventions that keep whirling around inside of my head… Even those are beginning to fade, and I feel as though you've given me little to hold onto."

"I said I didn't need you," Holmes explained. "However, I was speaking in the mere sense of business. You were not a very decent maid, I will tell you that much honestly."

"Debatable."

"At any rate, Miss Adkins, I didn't _need_ you as a detective partner either. Logically speaking, I'm not exactly sure how you wound up in my home anyway."

"Haven't I heard this story before?"

"That doesn't mean I didn't want you."

"Want me how? Like you wanted Irene?" A gloomy look passed over his face, and if it wasn't so dark, I could have sworn his cheeks were red. "I think you hardly have any right to say what you do and do not want."

"I suppose you do?"

"What if I do? What if I understand you better than you think? Oh yes," I chuckled darkly. "The mysterious life of Sherlock Holmes is cracked by the one and only Renadale Adkins.; how quizzical of a thing to come about."

"You said it," he suddenly smirked.

"What? That I actually…" My voice began to trail off. "I actually try to understand you?"

"One of the very few, though I must compliment Watson on his impeccable effort," Holmes smiled, but I could feel the feeling of stupidity choking me and stopping my words. "And I compliment my brother as well-"

My irritation suddenly morphed into curiosity. "Brother?"

"Mycroft's the name," Holmes said with enormous ease and speediness. "Very intelligent. In fact, more so than I. He's a genius, to put it point blank and works for the government in matters that even I cannot deduce." I stood, flabbergasted. Here Holmes was, complimenting his brother so highly, and yet I had never once heard him mentioned. "In some situations, he's given himself credit to solve London's issues."

"So… Let me get this straight," I said slowly. "You have a genius brother who practically _is_ the British Parliament?"

"Spot on," Holmes smirked. He always had a way of changing the topic to one less stressful. Inwardly, I thanked him for it. "And then there's myself, who _is_ the Scottish Yard. However, I wouldn't wish to announce that, as I am rather blasé in comparison to them."

Slowly, I shook my head back and forth. "You are no Scottish Yard. You are an enigma in yourself."

"All the more of a challenge for you to solve. Consider it practice."

I shook my head and stared from behind the desk. As I slowly leaned forward, my inquiring brow began to rise. "What if I decide to take on that challenge?" Holmes merely smiled. Though he said nothing, and the room was silent as ever, I could hear a heartbeat in my ears.

The more I looked at him, the more ordinary he seemed. Bruises along his face and heavy bags beneath his eyes were more visible in the shadows of the study. His skin was scarred like any other man. And all this time he had a brother! He was absolutely a mystery, but one I would be willing to solve. "Holmes…" I mumbled, making my way around the writing table. "What are you going to do now that the case has finished?" We were close now, but neither of us flinched. There was no tension in the air; only comfort.

I watched his lip curl into a snarl. He obviously hadn't thought about that yet, and we both knew some of his preferable options; ones in which I did not approve of such as boxing. "That…" he muttered. "…is a sublime inquiry."

"I know I won't be living with you," I mumbled as the simple thought made nerves dance. "But, I'm worried about you eating correctly. I'm worried about your hygiene which, no offense intended, you often lack."

"Not a worry. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't allow lack of that for too long."

"That's not all that concerns me," I continued. "Your clothes will need to be washed." I took a step forward, my hands brushing dust from his collar. "You also need to be shaven regularly and your house needs to be kept tidy."

"Perhaps I underestimated your… maid persona."

I shrugged, smiling towards him. "I just want to see you well off." My hands still lingered upon his chest as I stared forward at his buttons. I could feel the warmth coming off from him, despite the unheated, old room. Everywhere, despite how much I tried to get it away, I could hear my father's voice. _Renadale, hand me that book…_ and then I could hear my youthful voice in response… _Yes, father! _It had been years since I'd returned to his office; his safe haven away from my mother and the rest of life's demands. He always wanted to take me there. He taught me about things that most people said little girls shouldn't know about; the function of a heart, the diseases of the brain. I'd forgotten these things now without him there to remind me, but the mere presence of him was echoing off of the white washed walls and I could feel him hovering over me.

Holmes wasn't paying attention as I looked up anxiously towards his face. He was lost in thought, but he was there. That was all I needed at the moment. "I suppose now that-" Holmes began to speak, but as his very words were spoken, I found my arms instantaneously wrapping themselves around his broad torso. I placed my head against his chest and shut my eyes tightly.

"Sometimes I wish I could just forget." I whispered. "Let me move on. Help me let him go." I couldn't see Holmes's reaction, but I was certain it was one of stun. He made no notion to hold me back right away, but after a moment I felt his arms gently find me. "I try to forget about him," I mumbled. "Yet, every time I try, I just want to hold on even more."

Slowly, I felt Holmes lowering me to the ground in his arms. He leaned his back up against the wooden desk, one that I had hid under as a child many moons ago. I laid in his arms with my head still against him. Nothing felt better than the roughness of his well-worn jacket. The beam of light was now bent as it passed over Holmes's leg.

"I know that what you do is good," I began quietly. "You are the best man I know. But, it strikes me as odd. What do you gain from this; comfort in knowing that you did good?"

He waited a long time to answer. "The journey itself," he finally said. "…is the reward."

"That seems reasonable." My voice was soft.

"I sense a journey on its way," Holmes muttered. I could practically see his far off gaze without looking at him. "My work here is not even close to being refined."

"What makes you say that?"

"Think of the old man we witnessed the end of today… Where would he figure out how to find expert doctors, with similar thinking as he, in order to do his work _for_ him?" Holmes was not exactly speaking to me rather than speaking aloud, but I listened regardless. "The pieces of the puzzle do not quite fit…" In his train of thought, his hand was gently sweeping over my hair. I wasn't sure if he was conscious of it, but I said nothing.

"Are you implying that this case isn't over?" I begged to any deity out there that the answer would be 'no'.

"The case itself is finished," he said firmly. "It's the fact that it is… part of a larger picture."

I quickly hauled myself off of him in frustration. "What are you talking about? This case is over. I watched it end this morning, and so did you."

"Where would a simple man like that, a man running an institution, know how to find those people?" Holmes sat up on his knees, his eyes holding a twinkle. I was not pleased to hear this. We were eye to eye, but our excitement was not matched.

However, although I didn't want to start thinking about another case so soon, answers to his question wouldn't seem to leave the boundaries of my mind. "Drawing from inquisition, it would presumably be another doctor. If the person in charge was comfortable with dispensing off all of his men, he would obviously have to be someone of high status." The words began to fall from my mouth with no intent of stopping. I could hear my voice rambling on and on, but Holmes made no effort to shut me up, so I let myself continue. "_That_ way his name would never be tainted, and he could declare he had nothing to do with it. Certainly the man couldn't be mad himself, because who would listen to a mad man in all respect? He has given the image of being sane, at any rate, though he may very well not be. Very much like a teacher, or something-"

Quickly, something grabbed my face. I stared ahead to see Holmes coming at me, his lips pursed. I nearly screamed in surprise, but the force of his lips against mine was too shocking for me to utter anything. It was quick, but as he pulled away, he kept my head in his hands. "This is why I like you," he said quickly. "Sometimes, when you say things, you don't _really_ say things. And yet, they give me some sort of heading. I'm not sure how that works considering I do an enormous amount of investigation with the facts, in depth and on my own, but it does. Thank you, Renadale Adkins. Next time I attempt to shut you up inside your pathetic excuse for a home, do not let me. I will not be in my right mind, as I was clearly not today."

He jumped to his feet, quickly lighting up his pipe. I remained on the floor, breathless and speechless all together. "I'm not sure if I should be offended or honored…Does this mean I'm being forcedto help you?"

"Yes," Holmes grinned. "When I figure out exactly where to start, then yes." His face dropped for a moment as he recalled a minor detail. "And of course after the… _marriage_." If I hadn't already known about his distaste towards the topic, I would have blamed his choking on his smoke. "You also have my permission to come in daily and check my water level, the cleanliness of my clothes and the well being of my mental state."

"…Thank you?"

"Flabbergasted, yes, I realize that you are." He offered me his hand, which I only stared at in uncertainly. He was on the verge of another case, or so he hoped, and was obviously on edge. I was glad that he would not have to sink into solitude once more, but I knew that his manic mode would be in progress. "I thank you for bringing me here. However, let me tell you that you do not need to rely on any physical place for a recollection of your father. Your mind may tell you that you are forgetting pieces of his face, or precise words, but you never really do. You can look in a mirror and see every piece of him that you wish to see. By the dandelion vase in the corner of this room, I can sense that your father was a sensitive man. He would want you to move on."

I slipped my hand in his and stood up steadily beside him. "Your deduction methods can be something of a cure, you know."

"I make an effort."

I sighed as I stared at his glowing face. It took all of my power to not smile at his boyish attitude. "So, now what?"

"Now…" He said as the light began to trickle across his face. It hit his brown eyes with a punch, making them practically golden. "We start over."

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**ATTENTION! THIS IS SUPER IMPORTANT! SO READ IT! AND STUFF! YEAH!**

**Okay. I know you all went to go see Holmes on opening day, because that's just how we roll. This story only has ONE CHAPTER LEFT. In order to write a THIRD STORY I need to know what you guys want to read about. Here are options:**

**I can make up a new case that takes place AFTER this new movie. (Renadale would not take part in this new movie, because of reasons I would invent.)**

**Renadale CAN BE IN THE MOVIE. I would have to wait for it to come out on DVD, but I can certainly add her into the fun! **

**I can completely ignore the movie and create a new case, pretending that the Professor Moriarty case does not exist.**

**If you do not often leave comments PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT SAYING WHAT YOU WANT TO READ ABOUT. You have no idea how helpful it would be! Thank you! Thank you! :D **

**BTW HOW GREAT WAS THE MOVIE? Okay, why the eff was Mycroft naked? AND THE PONY PART WILL BE IMPRINTED IN MY MIND FOREVER. 3 Holmes is so cute. I think I may just have a heart attack.**


	30. Rena

**Hello everyone! First of all, let me thank you all so much for you input for the next story. It surprisingly had very different results from what I expected, but to make everyone happy, I have come to a conclusion.**

**I am going to write another story, not set during the movie. (Movie wanters, hold onto your hats still!) It will have some references to the film, as this chapter already does. :] I've thought of a really neat (Well, I think it's neat!) idea for a new case, and I can't wait to plan it all out. This story will be a bit different from the other ones, so I hope it excites you and you all come back to read it! **

**HOWEVER…**

**I'm going to make the next story a bit shorter, perhaps the length of Kisses of Ten. It will start after this story, but STILL BEFORE THE MOVIE. Sooo, after the next story is finished, and the movie will be out by then, I will add Renadale to the film! And for the people who weren't keen on the idea, trust me, I have some things up my sleeves. I will not copy the movie. I will add twists and turns that are not in the film, and have some side adventures that will be worth reading. Trust me. :]**

**I sincerely hope that this benefits all of your wants, because I am writing another story of my own, as well as a movie one. I think it will be exciting. I'm so excited to start writing a new story! **

**Lastly, I want to thank you all SO much for reviewing and reading these stories. They've been horribly bumpy and with some very idiotic errors… So, it really means a lot to me that you've stuck with me and hopefully will continue to.**

**And with that… the last chapter begins. :]**

**Please stay tuned for an upcoming AN! **

**~MistroStrings**

~.~.~.~.~

"Don't even _start _with me, Holmes!"

"I apologize, Watson. Blame Renadale."

"Excuse me?"

"Not now, Miss Adkins. At any rate I repeat myself. If it weren't for her quick thinking then I wouldn't be considering this. Of course eventually I would have been, but she encouraged it."

"I can't help you Holmes; I'm busy! Busy getting _married_! Does that mean anything to you? Have you even begun to work on my bachelor party?"

"I… Well. I can't give away all of the charming secrets I had in store for it."

"It's nearly midnight. Get out of my doorway."

"It's really more of a thresh-"

"You have exactly five seconds to walk away from my threshold."

"Watson, you're-"

"Five."

"This is really-"

"Four."

"Mary would find you repulsive right now."

"Three."

"Your impatience is discerning."

"Two."

"Perhaps I was wrong to even consider you as a partner."

_Slam._

Holmes and I stood outside of Watson's door, disappointment visibly hanging in the air. I wanted to scrutinize his gaze to see if I could figure out his next move, but I was too busy trying not to laugh aloud. My giggles were racking against my ribs out of the situation and perhaps my sleep deprivation. Holmes noticed eventually and I saw his head lift from the side of my eye. "Sorry," I smirked. "It's just… I warned you that would be the end of it."

"Everything is worth a try." He cocked a brow nonchalantly. "You never learn unless you attempt."

I rolled my eyes and began to follow him back towards Baker St. "I'll let you pretend as though you've won this won. But next time, don't say that I didn't tell you so."

"I wouldn't say that." He frowned. "You clearly stated before we came; 'He will undoubtedly slam the door in our faces'. However, I had _hoped _that it would not end that way. Hope is not yet a thing of the past, Miss Adkins."

I said nothing else as we walked back to his apartment. He was clearly disappointed and bitter; not the right time to talk to him. In the back of my mind, I questioned why I was following him. I knew I should have been returning to my own home, but my feet told me otherwise. He didn't once look back at me, but continued onward. No questions fell from my lips; I merely followed.

Once we reached our destination, I watched as he instantly began to skitter about his room. First, he approached his desk and flipped over a few papers, only to then toss them onto the floor. I winced, desperately wanting to pick them up, but too afraid to get mixed up in his nightly reorganization. Following the papers, he grabbed a plant and began to dig through the dirt, tossing it sporadically about. Now my curiosity was reaching its peek.

"Holmes…?" I coughed into my fist uncomfortably. He didn't pause, but instead dumped the entire pot of dirt onto the wooden floor. I gasped as my mouth remained dropped. "Holmes!" My whisper was sharp. "What on Earth are you doing?"

"Living," he mumbled. "I cannot live anywhere else besides Earth."

"You know that's not what I meant."

It was obvious he held little interest in what I was saying. "Where did I leave it?" He muttered to himself, going through his bookshelves and knocking one after the other to the floor. That was the final straw and I rushed quickly up next to him, taking his wrists in my hands.

"There are people in the room below you. Have some courtesy, and stop tossing things about."

He carefully stared into my eyes, an obvious form of mockery on his face. "I'm sorry. That sounds like cleaning… Isn't that what I pay you for?"

"You_ don't_ pay me."

He frowned momentarily. "I should probably do something about that before your estranged mother comes knocking on my door."

"Hey," I snapped again, tossing his wrists away from me in aggravation. "That's my mother you're talking about. And if we're being realistic here, you're the estranged one. Besides, she liked you for a while there." Holmes took a step forward. It was his turn to have his curiosity raised. "After all," I continued. "You were the first decent man I took any liking to. As well as me actually stumbling upon a job-"

"The first _decent _man?"

Oh, words. How easily you can slip from my lips and deceive me. "I meant _man_." My throat began to tense up and I prayed that he couldn't tell. Just this once, let him not figure out the look on my face. "Just one man."

"You've got to know that I'm better at deducing than that."

"Rubbish," I growled before turning my back to him. "It doesn't matter. I'm falling asleep just standing here. I need to get home."

Holmes stared forward towards the window with his mind buried deep within the enigma that was my relationship status. "Another man…" He pondered. "What an atypical notion; Renadale Adkins, but not herself. She is _flustered_ by someone of the male guise."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here." I frowned. "I'm leaving you on your own to solve this case." My fingers brushed the door knob, but I hesitated to turn it. This really wasn't a topic I was eager about discussing.

"What sort of man could charm their way to an inventor's heart?" Holmes asked himself instead of me. "Renadale would surely not go for a grandeur man… Someone shrewd certainly, but with little sense of sophistication."

My hand fell from the handle as his words somehow stung me to offense. "Are you suggesting that I'm not elegant?"

"Could it be an artist? No, no: much too probing about the forefronts of life for the society-nervous Renadale Adkins." My brows were inching closer together in frustration the more he talked. Yet he continued to pace the room with his fingers drumming against his lips. "Interestingly enough, a doctor is what comes to mind. The quota fits; you worked fondly with your physician father. Surely you were in the company of others."

My nuisance level was growing high as I drew further away from the door and closer towards Holmes. I stood in the middle of the room with my arms crossed firmly over my chest as he waltzed around me, attempting to figure out my past. Heat was shedding off of my body and I was certain if he couldn't feel it from where he walked that he could sense it in my stance. "On the off-putting side, a doctor does stir reminders of Watson. And that, my dear Renadale, would be a horrible scandal."

My head snapped towards him swiftly. I was sure that my glare nearly pulled his tongue straight from his mouth. "Even mentioning such a thing is an idiocy in itself. There were no doctors, lawyers, artists, or even gentlemen in my life before. Yes, now there is a doctor, but surely nothing else. There especially are no gentlemen."

He seemed a bit ticked with the last part, but smiled none the less. "You're right." Holmes grinned toothily from his bed. "Because the man previously in your life was nothing other than an archeologist."

Something froze within me. I could feel ice wrapping its way around my heart: through my blood vessels and up into my lungs until air was choking me to no words. "How…" I felt my body shrink within itself as my confident standpoint crumbled. "How did you…"

Holmes must have noticed my sudden subverted nature and decided it was the opportune moment to be a bit tenderer on the subject. "Perhaps now is not the best time to ask questions. It was foolish of me to have brought it up and I apologize if it made you uncomfortable."

"I tried to get you to stop, so you wouldn't remind me…"

"Renadale, I am truly sorry. You must know that containing my reasoning methods, even for the protection of possible discomfort of a friend, is a very difficult task for me to accomplish."

I stared at him without saying a word. He didn't know about my past and yet he guessed correctly. He guessed as though he knew all along. The way he said it even; _archeologist. _It was nearly ridicule. How? What kind of man knew those things, without actually knowing them at all? As I looked at him I could feel the anger in my eyes turn to awe. He dropped his head quietly with a look of guilt etched into his wrinkles.

"You look exhausted." I mumbled, trying to make him feel more comfortable.

His voice was soft as it danced across the cluttered room. "The day is taking its toll, I suppose."

"You need to get some rest." I attempted a smile. He said nothing, but looked at me as though waiting for a sign of pardon. "Don't worry about me. I've allowed myself to forget… I've had years of practice."

He nodded leisurely with a sigh of relief. "Very well, then. I won't polish the matter further."

"Yes you will." I smirked. "One day, I'm sure I shall tell you more about him."

Something about my words affected Sherlock. He began to blink repeatedly and suddenly lost his focus. Nervously, his hands found the back of his neck, which he rubbed for quite a while. His jacket had been slung off, and he stood before me in with white shirt slightly unbuttoned. I watched his finger brush his bare neck, my heart fluttering slightly. "Might I ask one more question on the subject?"

My frown instantly returned. "Let this be a test of suppressing your inquisitiveness: _No_."

"Then, perhaps an inquiry on you?"

"That depends on the inquiry."

He placed his hands behind him on the bed frame, leaning back with something of an impatient look about him. "When you say, 'one day', does this mean that will be relatively soon? Or perhaps, this is a subject that is too deep and comprehensive to be spoken of until, perhaps, say… a _year_ of friendship between us is identified?"

I stood, clearly baffled by the question. If he didn't make sense in the day time, he was perhaps even worse in the evening. "I'm sorry?"

"Nothing!" He shouted suddenly, turning his back to me. "Nothing. It's of modest import." Before I could even utter a word, he scooped up a dusty, silver pocket-watch from a nearby table as well as a slip of paper, which he tucked quickly in his pocket. "My God; Watson wasn't joking. It is very late indeed, as indicated on this… little clock." His fingers tapped the glass repeatedly. He was back into his manic mode. It was a mode that frightened me and excited me all the same. "Surely I should be off to sleep, as you rightly should as well."

He snatched a large quilt off of his bed and tossed it towards me. I gasped as I rushed to pick it up, but I was no match for the weighty material and found myself stumbling to the ground. I scoffed as I stood up, my arms overflowing with what smelled like a very aged and patched blanket. Holmes took no notice however and began tossing pillows towards me as well. "Make yourself comfortable on the couch there!"

After I struggled also to catch the small pillows, I glanced sideways at the red couch I had sat upon so many times before. It suddenly looked very wicked and impish. Surely my cheeks were red as the maroon couch. "You… you want me to sleep there?"

"I don't necessarily want you to," Holmes said as he crawled under the thin covers on his bed. "I'm just letting you know that you may." He leaned up onto his elbows, and it was at that moment when I realized he had somehow changed into his sleep-linen when I was lost behind a sea of blankets. My eyes grew wide at the very sight of him, and worse off, he had given me the majority of his sheets and seeing him so open was discerning.

"This is not happening," I said, suddenly dropping the covers. "I cannot stay here. This is unacceptable for us as people, to my mother, and practically to London society as a whole."

Holmes sat up a bit straighter, running his hands through his messy locks. He opened his mouth to respond, but shut it after thinking a bit more on the subject. He then proceeded to fall back onto his pillow and move or say no more.

My hands were literally shaking as I picked up the pillows again. Maybe there wasn't any harm to it. I mean, we were just falling asleep. And in two separate places!

The clocks in the room, of which there were numerous and most in places I couldn't see, ticked deafeningly in my ears. Each one sung a different beat and none synchronized. They read late into the night; too late to return home without my mother questioning. The tinkering of bugs' feet on glass echoed in the hush. Carriage wheels outside crunched the gravel beneath them, and shouts of drunken men in the distance tuned in with harmony. All of these with the addition of my nerves were making my head spin. I quickly leaned against the velvet sofa with one hand, trying to steady myself. "Perhaps, I could lie down for a short while…"

"Don't fool yourself," I heard Holmes say from his bed. "Once your head hits that pillow, you won't be able to escape from your dreams."

And I couldn't.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_All of your fears will be wiped away, Renadale. Every single one. Just take my hand._

_No! Who are you? Show yourself. Walk out from the darkness… I wish to see your face._

…

_What do you think of it? _

_You! You! You're the one that kills without mercy! Don't touch me! Stay back; stay away!_

_I can't stay away, Renadale. You know I cannot. Your sins are mine now, and so are your dreams. I'm the demon not only in your soul, but in the souls around you. You saw me when you watched that man hang. You saw my red horns peeking out from my head, and the flash of my bloody hands. You heard me laughing, but you did nothing. You STOOD. You WATCHED._

_I didn't want to! I had no choice! I couldn't save him! I didn't want to save that murderer! _

_So, you do have a dark side. I like that. Reminds me a little bit of myself, actually…_

_Don't twist my words! You're the devil!_

_Yes, I am Renadale. I'm here to take you with me. You want to tag along, and you know it. I am always behind you. Death follows you everywhere you go. You will never wake up from it._

_No!_

_You will always sense it in the air of London and you will continue to sense it in your grave._

_No, I won't!_

_You will follow me. You have no choice. Take my hand, Renadale. Take it. It's warm and welcoming. I can give you a future that's guaranteed. _

_~.~.~.~.~_

"_No!_" I screamed aloud. My body shot upwards from the bed as I gasped for whatever breath I could find. My trembling hands found my face, which I held firmly with my frosty fingers. It was all I could do not to whimper aloud. I wanted to close my eyes to calm myself, but I did not want to return to darkness. The nightmare was so realistic that I could still hear Lucifer's voice in my head.

"Renadale…" A voice rang out beside me. Afraid and startled, I gasped as the voice said my name. In terror, I retreated backwards onto the couch, but allowed myself to relax when I saw that it was Holmes kneeling beside me. My chest heaved self-consciously as he stared at me with concern. "You were having a nightmare."

"I… I know…" I mumbled, wrapping my arms around myself. "Did I wake you?"

"That's the least of my worries," he said, raising his brows. "You are something I care much more about than slumber." Normally, the compliment would have astounded me, but I was too distressed to take notice of it. I merely nodded and leaned slowly backwards onto a smooth pillow. _Why did I dream such a dream?_

"Satan was speaking to me…" I explained as I stared at the wooden ceiling above me. As I looked, my eyes began to deceive me and carve his face right into the panels. I turned my face away to the window, hoping that the light would distract me. "He stepped out into a beam of light. It was like the one in the museum. His face was… red: red like flames."

"Dreams are interpretations," he said calmly. "To dream of the devil probably means that you have fears and confines. You may be harboring negative feelings within yourself." For once, his analytical nature was not comforting. "On another note, Lucifer was cunning and witty. Perhaps this is a sign that you will be able to ward off your enemies."

"But, I couldn't. That's the point." I said quickly. "I was screaming as he reached towards me… and the heat," my voice dropped. "It was like I could feel it."

Holmes shook his head, stopping my words. "Perhaps now isn't the best time for dream analysis, but you do deserve console. Yesterday was much too long and making it an even longer night will not help you tomorrow."

"Why would I need help tomorrow?"

Holmes smiled in the darkness. "You'll have to figure out some way to explain to your mother where you were."

I smiled to myself, suddenly feeling better. Though he could be confusing, talking to Holmes on a nonprofessional basis was always a stress relief for me. "Touché, mon amour."

"Mon amour' signifie l'amour. Je me demande si vous saviez que, Renadale."

"I'm sorry…" I said, flustered. "I don't speak French."

"My point exactly." Holmes stood up, baring himself in his night garments to the fullest. I buried my face a bit further beneath my blankets and tried my hardest not to look upwards. "Try and sleep. Dreams seem to hardly ever come back, so I'm sure you will be able to find rest now."

I nodded, slowly shutting my eyes. "I certainly hope so."

I could hear him making his way back towards his bed. The sound of shuffling feet moving further away poked at emptiness inside of me. I instantly shot upwards in my spot as my arm reached out towards his wrist and snatched it in my own hand. "Wait." Holmes glanced down at my grasp. His eyes trailed up my arm until it slid over my face. They were filled with uneasiness, but somehow I didn't pay attention to it. "Could you… stay with me for a while?"

His eyes opened and closed for a minute or two as I kept my hold tight on his arm. He cautiously reached down and took it in his free hand, hauling me off the couch. "I believe I was staying with you to begin with, but… If closer is what you mean, then I can be of service." I stood near him and struggled to not glance at his apparel. He noticed my feeble attempts, and made a note of it. "One can think great thoughts when not constricted by belts, buttons and heavy material." It was his turn to look upon my dress, thick and heavy for the cold weather. "I'm sorry I don't have something for you to sleep in."

"I'm quite alright, thank you." His hand was growing warmer in my own as they were intertwined between us. "At any rate," I coughed. "You should go back to bed. I'll be alright." There was a long pause as we continued to stand. "… By myself."

"Of course," Holmes said quickly. Neither of us moved however and yet I felt little embarrassment in the position. Flashbacks were too busy flooding through my mind. We were just feet away was where we had first…

The first time we kissed.

I had come in, sobbing because of kiss marks on my doorway. I would have done anything not to see another kiss in my life. My trembling body fell back onto that red sofa. He kissed me, claiming it was out of the fact that he hated to see me cry. Fear of such an affectionate sign faded instantly. He blamed his out of character nature on lack of sleep. He kissed me over and over again, his fingers finding their way through my maze of curls. Somehow, that moment seemed forever ago and then some. Somehow, I missed it. I missed my old self; naive and fragile. What a foolish thing to miss.

"I'll leave you then," Holmes said, interrupting my thoughts.

"No." Without thinking, as I often did, I brought his hand up to my lips. I pressed them against his warm skin, shutting my eyes. His hands were soft and rough at the same time but I found them reassuring either way. "Thank you," I whispered against his fingers before letting them drop. "Thank you for everything you have done for me."

He instantly began to speak, but stopped himself short. His eyes danced over my face, unsure of how to respond. "You… _will_ help me on this case, will you not?"

My head raised as our eyes locked. "This case?"

He nodded. It was what we had discussed earlier. Now he was certain about it. This wasn't the end. It was a much bigger picture. There were still lines that needed to be drawn and spaces that needed to be filled. I was suddenly reminded of his rummaging when we came inside and wondered if that had anything to do with this new investigation. "Wait." I narrowed my eyes intensely. "What were you looking for earlier?" He smirked and swiftly pulled a piece of paper from his pajama pants pocket. On the sheet, a perfectly sketched caduceus was drawn. He said nothing, but held it up with pride. "Where did you find that and why do you need it?"

"I found it beneath my pocket watch; the one I picked up earlier." I suddenly remembered how hurriedly he had shoved a piece of paper in his pocket. "And I need it because…" He raised a finger wisely. "This simple sketch, this simple _illustrazione_, holds the key to the beginning of the rest of my discoveries." Somehow, I wanted to make sense of his words but they seemed insignificant. I refocused my attention on the picture, hoping that it would give me insight to his brain.

The snakes were wrapped perfectly around the winged staff. The ancient symbol meant little to me, but it did remind me a bit of my father. It was becoming more of a popular sign in the medical field, but it was very old. Ancient, really. I learned about it from an old friend who was keen on the topic of symbols. I learned much from him, but gave nothing in return. However, that is a story for another time.

I could feel my eyelids beginning to droop the more I stared at it. "I think I'll have to ask you more about it some other time. I fear you'll lose me if you try to explain its importance now."

"Yet, I don't need to explain, do I? You already know a lot about that symbol and what it stands for. I presume you learned from your… friend." He grimaced for a second before regaining his smile. On another day, I may have detected jealousy in his expression. On that day though, I was bitter about the topic being brought up again and shook my head defiantly.

"No. I'm not sure what you mean."

"Then you don't know that the snakes actually represent the everlasting evil in the world?"

"That's not what they represent," I scoffed. "The snakes make an eight form, or rather the form of infinity. They represent completeness, or perfection. They also symbolize two opposing sides such as good and evil, or… male and female. It's all about balance. The whole sign represents _life_."

"And the wings… they represent heaven?" I could tell by the smirk on his face that he was clearly messing with me. He knew what everything meant, but he knew I was in the heat of the moment and would answer him regardless. He liked seeing me angry, since it wasn't one of my common traits.

"Of course not! Not everyone believes in such a place," I mumbled, scratching my head in frustration. "No; the wings represent flight. It can be a spiritual flight or intuition. It was Hermes' personal symbol. For him, it meant a flight from Earth to the Heavens."

"So, it was just his symbol?"

"What? _Just _his?" I laughed at the stupidity of the idea. "Clearly not. It's a powerful symbol for magicians. It's also used by medicine men, like my father. Not only that, but the caduceus is a representation of the tree of life; the World Axis." I was running out of air and finally decided to stop myself. Holmes was simply grinning towards me with his arms crossed winningly across his chest. "Why are you smiling? You should be disappointed. I expected you of all people to know that."

"I expected as much," he said as he tossed the paper on a nearby table. "That's why I didn't care to mention earlier that I do know. I wanted to remind myself that I kept you around for a good reason." He paused, looking me swiftly up and down. "You're not like other girls."

Shaking my head back and forth, I wagged a finger in his face. He raised a brow, wearing that taunting smirk of his. "You know you're incredible, sometimes, right?"

"Sometimes? Oh, I think I deserve a bit more merit than that."

I frowned, rolling my eyes. "All the time, then."

"I think that's why I tend to keep you and Watson around. You seem to remind me, as I find myself forgetting." Something flickered behind those large eyes of his. Something dark; even sad. Whatever was eating him, he was having difficulty hiding it from me even in the darkness. "Even through his irritations and shouts, I know that he finds me… superlative."

Not realizing what I was doing, I reached up and gently brushed a stray hair away from his forehead. "That's because you are," I smiled. Despite my compliment his face wore that same weary look. I could tell he didn't believe me. Though at points he was clearly proud of his work he seemed to lack faith in what he had inside himself. "You believe me," I stared at him as he avoided my eyes. "…don't you?"

He kept his gaze fixed outside the window for a long while before turning to me. The light from the streetlight hit his face with a punch, casting a golden glow upon his face. I could have looked at him a bit longer, but he snapped out of it quickly. "Of course," he muttered but said nothing more on the subject. I viewed it as an opportunity to compliment him more in the future. But, for now I would let it go.

We waited in silence for a moment, before his frame of hair caught my gaze. "Your hair…" I said as I lightly tugged a strand past his ear. "It's growing."

"Yes. Hair tends to take on that action."

Playfully, I nudged him. "Don't mock me."

"Sorry," he said quickly. The sadness in his eyes was slowly dispersing. "I wouldn't intend to, it's just that often I find it easy."

Thought it was an insult I couldn't help but laugh at myself. "You can't say that." I flicked his hair back over his eyes. "I'm a lady." He laughed as well, attempting to smooth his hair back into its rightful position. I wasn't letting him have his way easily and we tried pathetically to dodge each other's hands through our smiles. Somehow, he managed to pull me closer towards him with his hands now wrapped around my wrists. I could see every hair on his face as well as every cut and bruise. They still hadn't faded completely from when he was in the sewers. My mind whispered to my heart to not think of such things, but sometimes it was unavoidable. I turned my focus back to his curling hair to stop the pain in my chest. "I really do like it… your hair, I mean."

Holmes kept my arms raised. They made a frame between our faces, almost like a mirror separating us. Only, the mirror was made from air and at any moment I could lean forward and… "Do you intend for me to keep it long?" When he spoke, he spoke leisurely and carefully. His fingers were loosening and sliding a bit further down my arm, about ready to drop back to his sides at any second.

"What…" I choked, afraid of being so close to him. "What makes you think I have any say in it?"

"Well." His hands were slowly falling away from me. "As my maid, I believe it was you who informed me that you were going to keep track of my personal hygiene."

_Three… two… one._ His hands were now back at his side, but somehow mine were still raised and unmoving. "I did say that," I muttered, dropping my eyes. "…didn't I?"

"Yes." He firmly nodded. "Just as you said you agreed to help me on this case. Which, you will no doubt keep your word on. Understood?"

"Understood." I answered quickly as I let my arms finally drop.

"Brilliant." He breathed in quickly, once again appearing as if he had something to ask of me. But, he rethought his statement and pointed swiftly to a cut on his cheek. "Tell me, maid. Are my cuts deep enough to be scars?"

"Let me see," I lightly held his face in my hands. I knew the answer, but the question brought on an opportunity to be near him again. Somehow, I wanted to seize the chance before it was gone. "I would say; no." Lightly, I touched his scratch. "They will heal nicely. Even if they did turn out to be scars…" I could feel the words sticking in my throat; afraid to come out. "Well, it would not be a disadvantage to you. You would still be handsome."

Judging by the expression on his face, he did not often receive compliments like that and therefore did not know how to react. At first, his face twisted into one resembling pain, then to confusion, then to simply nothing. He struggled with his words as well, as his eyes seemed to scan the air for help. "Well, that's very kind of you to say. My mother would sometimes briefly mention that I might turn out alright in the end. Perhaps I did, but I'm not really certain. I suppose I can't be the judge of that entirely-"

While he was speaking, I was debating how I would get him to be quiet inside of my head. I knew that I wanted to kiss him, but even the thought of him sent my stomach and head off into a whirl, and kissing him was never something I did easily. My hands lifted up and down from my sides, deciding if I should go for it or let him talk us both to sleep. Hesitantly, I smiled and nodded as he spoke, wondering when and if I should do it. As the words continued to spill out, I shut my eyes and did what I told myself I needed to; even though it was what I wanted.

"Yet one day, while considering a trip to Paris, she did say that I-"

My hands finally landed upon his cheeks, warmer now that I was holding them, and pulled his face closer towards mine. He instantly stopped talking as his eyes grew as big as his mouth had been. I winced as I pressed my lips to his, afraid of him pushing me off. There was no movement; just two lips on the other. After a moment of the awkward embrace, I finally pulled my face away from his and stared into his eyes. He blinked a few times, obviously perplexed. I wanted to blurt out; "I'm sorry!" But I couldn't find the air to say anything.

It didn't matter, however, because I found myself unintentionally bringing myself towards him once again. I let my hands hold the back of his head with my thumbs before his ears. I opened my eyes to see his reaction, surprised to find that he had shut his. Carefully, I pulled away again. My mind was whirling with questions. _Why didn't I plan for this to happen? Why did I just decide to do that? Was there even a possibility in my mind of this happening when we came here? I was the one who went to him first! _

Not only was my thought process growing more and more disconnected, but my coordination as well. I shut my eyes, feeling dizzy from perhaps tiredness and my own baffled brain. I felt Holmes' hands steady me as they had so many times before. The room was colder; or was it all in my head? I planted my hands firmly on his shoulders to steady myself as a shudder shot down my spine. He stared me, his eyes dark like coals, but holding mysteries of the world behind them. Pathetically, I fell for them as I had so many times before. I wondered then if I would ever be able not to.

Carefully, and slowly enough for him to know what I was doing, I crept up onto my toes to reach his lips once again. I allowed myself to breathe this time, and tell myself that it was okay. He hadn't stopped me before, and he still wasn't. In the back of my mind, I wished upon every star in the late night sky that I could know what he was thinking at that moment. Was he too sweet to tell me to stop? Was I just an experiment; a woman's desire? Or, was it simple? Did he want to kiss me as well?

Somewhere between all of my questions, I found myself melting into an embrace I wasn't expecting. My hands went back to holding his head, as his gently tucked my tangled hair behind my ears. I could tell by the lightness of his fingers that he was hesitant, but I couldn't think of anything besides my deafening heartbeat and the sound of our sighs, but somehow I forced myself to pull away from him. He was nervous. I could feel it in every one of his senses. His light hands, his short breathing, his overly warm cheeks. He still held my arms after I broke away, but his eyes refused to look towards me.

"You don't have to say anything." Eventually, like an alarmed dog, he looked back. "That was foolish of me to do. We're tired, and I failed to note that right now." Though my words made sense, I found them hurting my heart more than I expected. "Sometimes, I don't think before I do things. I'm sorry to say right then was one of them."

"Renadale." The use of my name instantly shut me up. "If you want to be a detective, you must become better at understanding what people want and don't want. You have to infer a situation better."

"But, I-I did… You seemed-"

He shut his eyes and shook his head hotly, obviously more tense than before. I would never catch a break. "My senses cannot seem logical at a moment like this," His voice was fast and filled with obvious frustration. "Women, period, don't make much sense to me and yet when I have a window of opportunity to find out, I find myself bewildered too much by my own feelings to make any sense of it at all. All women, yes, but you are a different case. There are stirrings that…" He stopped talking, suddenly afraid of his own voice.

Once again, it was another sly confession that still baffled me to make sense of it. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. It was just…nonsense." _Not to me, it wasn't. _

"Absolute nonsense." He nodded firmly. "There is no sense whatsoever. It's completely nonsensical."

"Call me old-fashioned, but we're just up too late for our own good and we're both tired and not in our right senses."

"I sense that, yes."

"Sensible."

"Entirely."

We found ourselves back in each other's arms as fast as we had just been talking. My fingers brushed over his scars as I found myself kissing him for the fourth time. Shamefully, I reminded myself that this was the first man I had ever kissed. Oh, would I ever tell him that? Perhaps not. Thought I was shy and uncertain about many things, there was still a small enough sense of pride for me not to say anything on that note. Instead, I embraced the moment for what it was in my eyes; perfect.

In between each kiss, the next more meaningful than the last, I could feel ourselves moving backwards towards the fireplace. Finally, Holmes's back hit it gently as his fingers made their way around my shoulders, fitting perfectly along the crook of my neck.

I wondered how things would be tomorrow. I wondered what would happen the next time we ran into Irene Adler. I wondered what would happen when I told him about the archeologist, though he seemed to know a little already. I wondered about Watson and Mary, and how Holmes would ever be willing to give such a dear friend up, and to a woman at that. I wondered if he actually would. But, above all things, I wondered about my decision. Was it the right one? Would it benefit me? Or, would it hurt me and the ones I loved until there was no way out?

My decision was to stay. I was going to stay with Holmes. Not just for the next case, but the one after that, and maybe after that. I would stand with him until I was no longer needed. That was my choice, and I took it with both hands open.

I just wondered if it was the right one.

~.~.~.~.~.~

There is a British poet named William Wordsworth. The name, to me, is ironic considering his status and the fact that he is a writer. Keats was always my favorite poet, if I had to choose one, but something Wordsworth wrote always struck me. Just two lines, simple, and about my home.

_Our haughty life is crowned with darkness, like London with its own black wreath…_

I think it struck me so much because though I knew what London was; an overpopulated, riches to rags cesspool that often damaged lives more than it did benefit them, I did not see it in darkness. In fact, London always seemed to be wearing a sort of hazy halo. When I would gaze out of my dirt-bordered window in the morning, the fog (if it was actually fog) drifted ever so slightly above the buildings. It was like heaven was bringing us closer to its paradise. London is a grimy place, and I think it will always remain so. Though it wasn't my countryside home, I had made a life there. Imagining a deathly, dark wreath being worn upon London's head seemed out of reach for my mind.

That is, until I met Sherlock Holmes and saw the horrors that a city could truly hold. Everything is in a name. I may have to disagree with Shakespeare on that, but when I think: "London" for the rest of my life I will be filled with images that are not welcome. They will be dark and depressive forever.

However, I wasn't thinking these thoughts the next morning as I stood looking over the Thames at the nearly finished Tower Bridge. It was beautiful on that morning as the sun spread its way through the clouds more than it had in months. Though the day was cold, I welcomed the wind hitting my un-collared neck and face.

I was alone. Holmes had woken up in a fit, shouted something about needing plants, and ran out. I was much too tired to comprehend any of it, but even if I wasn't exhausted, I probably still wouldn't have understood him in his manic state.

I had stretched my body out in the empty apartment. My dress from the day before was still clinging to my body, and I gave myself a pat on the back for actually being able to fall asleep in it. I could still feel the warmth of his chest on my cheek though he was gone and off somewhere. I decided that, I too, would make my way around town and maybe we both just needed a day to get our minds straightened out. If that was even possible.

So, that's how I reached the river. I was headed towards my house when the sound of men working distracted me. I watched them and their tools create something of beauty; right before my very eyes. I wondered how many times people were lucky enough in their lives to see such magnificence. Some men of higher power were critical of its architectural design, but I had grown to learn that men with money often complained about everything and held little artistic view.

I'm not sure how long I watched, but the sun faded in and out behind the clouds long enough for me to know that I should head home. I turned around and began to walk down the semi-crowded sidewalk with my eyes glued to my boots. My hair was down, sometimes recognition of unmarried status, and my clothes were wrinkled and plain. I wasn't sticking out and that was all that mattered.

"Brilliance, mates! Absolutely brilliant work! Come inside and read books like this one; it will baffle you, amaze you, and all together excite you!"

My feet began to halt themselves against the gravel path as the shouts of a young boy caught my attention. He was young, perhaps sixteen, and holding a rather pretty little green book in his hand. He held it high above his head, waving it in the wind like a fan. I squinted to try and read the title, but he was moving much too fast. Next to him, in the large display window of a book store, the green books were stacked perfectly. There must have been at least twenty of them and all glowing emerald. Carefully, I crossed the streets, muttering my typical pardons as I bumped into classier citizens. "Excuse me," I said as I approached the boy. "What book is that?"

"One of the most confusing ones, they say," he said, though I knew he couldn't even read the title. "Written by Professor James Moriarty." The name struck me as familiar. My father had spoken of him often and with very high acclaim. "Real good, ya see?" He quickly placed the book right before my nose where I had to lean back a bit to read the title.

"The Dynamics of an Asteroid." My eyes scanned over the gold letters. The book reminded me a bit of my 'Alice in Wonderland' copy, but only by looks. As I flipped through the pages quickly, I could already tell the book was for well-bred intellectuals. Words like 'apportionment', 'Archimedes' and 'Homothetic' already informed that this book was based on math and science. Why it interested me; I wasn't sure. None the less, I remembered hearing about the author in a note worthy fashion. "How much is this?"

"Not quite sure, Miss," the boy laughed as he adjusted his newsboy cap. "I just shout about it."

"Alright." I smiled as I headed inside the store. "Thank you."

The store was small; much smaller than the display window appeared it to be, but perhaps that was because of the clutter of books. Stacks lined the doorway and circled around the room. There were bookshelves, but you could hardly get to them because of blocking piles in the way. "Don't mind the clutter!" Someone shouted from the back room. "If you want to know where anything is, I can tell you easily!"

A moment later an old man with slicked back grey hair came stumbling out. He adjusted a bowtie worn snuggly around his neck and stared at me with small, blue eyes hidden around a ring of wrinkles. He looked pleasant enough and it was clear by his appearance that this book store was as old as he. In fact, before he shut the door to his office, I thought I saw a small bed tucked in the back. The man lived here! What a dream; living in a book store. "Can I help you?" He asked as he approached me.

I smiled back, holding up the book in my hand. "I just wanted to purchase this book."

"Ah, yes." He gently reached out and took it from my hands. He ran his shaky fingers over the cover and brought it back behind the counter. "A good book, that one is. He's a very good writer, but what would you expect coming from one of the smartest men in the world?"

"The world?" I asked aloud. "That's impressive."

"Well, wouldn't you agree?" He asked as he rung the book up on the till. I wanted to say; "No, actually that would be Sherlock Holmes," but I merely nodded. As he pulled the crank, he leaned forward a bit to read the numbers behind the glass. "That comes out to 75 pence."

The number made me jump a bit. The last book I had purchased had been around 10P, but I said nothing and slid what I had across the counter. My mother would be upset about my purchase, but the book was intriguing for reasons I wasn't sure of yet. "Thank you," I said as I slipped the book in the side of my coat.

"Thank _you_." He grinned. "Enjoy the book and stop by whenever you can!"

"I most certainly will!" I said as I waved behind me. And I meant it. The book store was very charming in its size and humbleness. He wasn't trying to impress anyone. He was just himself. To me, that was certainly admirable.

As I made my way out of the shop, tossing another smile towards the young boy, I decided that it had been a long day even though I knew it was barely noon. My feet placed themselves one in front of the other as the bottom of my boots lazily got scuffed up along the stones. People passed me without looking, but I looked at them instead. Their faces were tired, but happy in the surprisingly warm day. I tucked my hands inside my pockets as the book repeatedly hit my chest with each step.

Where was I headed? Of that, I wasn't sure. However, I decided that that day would be one that was unplanned. I wanted to walk and see where my feet lead me. No guidance, no help. Nothing was leading me anywhere. There were no clues taking me from one place to the next. I just wanted to walk; to see where I ended up.

I was on one of the four corners leading up to Big Ben. I squinted up towards it as the sun made the gold exterior sparkle. People brushed passed me as I stood, unmoved. As I stared up at the beautiful building, I couldn't help but wish that my days could be as peaceful as this one was starting to be. No clues, no death, no violence. It was just me and myself; me and my own thoughts.

Though it was peaceful then, I knew that the excitement of adventures with Holmes was much more thrilling. I just had to prepare myself for it. I had to tell myself to get over my fears and start using the parts of my brain that had been shut down for a long time. Math, science, even symbols. I knew about those things. It had been so long since I needed their resources though that I was afraid of using them in fear of messing up.

He claimed that he wanted me though. He had said it, just as I had hoped he would. I wouldn't let him down. That was part of the reason I picked up Moriarty's book. Perhaps reading some old terms would spark my memory. I was depending on help from Professor Moriarty, and knew that he would give me guidance. Thinking of such a great man excited me, and his book felt fresh and new inside of my coat. I couldn't wait to crack back the cover and hear the crunch of a newly bent page.

But for now, I would wait. I had to. Holmes would begin to turn the wheels on whatever plan was going on through his mind. As for me, I would wait until my further instructions were given. The caduceus image flickered across my mind and I couldn't help but wonder of what importance it held for my future. But, I shook my head and put the thoughts behind me and walked on. Such things could wait until tomorrow.

Tomorrow. The world was a bit more special now. Sometimes, I wondered if there would be a tomorrow. That was something I had never questioned before. I could feel scars on me that hadn't been there until recently. One was from a bullet. That could have been the end of me, but it wasn't.

Tomorrow, I could watch someone else die. I had seen men and women die before my eyes, or seen them afterwards; trapped forever in their own silent and unmoving skin. Maybe tomorrow it would be someone I loved. It could be someone I cared about. That wouldn't be the first time. But now I had so few people in the world that losing one of them would eat at me for eternity.

Tomorrow Watson would be married and Holmes would be miserable. Holmes wouldn't try and end things between Miss Morstan and Doctor Watson. He wasn't that sort of person. He would try and dissuade Watson from this decision. I had already seen him make bitter remarks about it. It wasn't Mary; she was as beautiful and charming as a porcelain doll. It was just the whole idea that flustered him. Something about the way he hated marriage bothered me, but I knew that about him from the start. He wasn't exactly romantic, to say the least. One thing we differed in.

Tomorrow, I would probably be falling for him even more than I already was. Despite his lack of passion, or hope for love, I couldn't help myself. Something about his simplicity for the normal world and fascination with the complex took my breath away. Literally. The quickness of his mind startled me until I had to catch my breath. I had never met anyone like that, and never would again; of that I was certain. Now it was my chance to learn. He was going to be my teacher, and I would be his focused pupil. It was me or Watson, and Watson was fading from the picture. He certainly wouldn't be trading me for Lestrade any time soon.

Tomorrow, I would be Renadale Adkins. Tomorrow, I would be a detective in training.

As I continued walking, further and further away from Holmes' house, I looked up at the silky clouds and whispered as my breath churned into mist and then faded into the sky.

"Tomorrow, I will take London by storm."


	31. AUTHOR'S NOTE!

Hey gals and guys (…are there actually any guys reading this?) !

So, Poisoned Dreams is done. o_o We are super close to 500 reviews, so it'd be really sweet if you haven't, to just do that for me. I don't exactly want to reach a goal, but I LOVE reviews more than anything.

Except Pita bread and Sherlock Holmes.

Anyway! ANOTHER NOTE!

I edited Kisses of Ten! YAY! So, while you await the next story, maybe you'd like to rewind time and check out some new stuff in the old story. :] I can definitely give myself a pat on the back. This sequel was much better in my opinion.

And yes, eventually I shall edit this too.

Okay, but before I begin the three-quel, here are some questions I'd like you to think about (and then maybe answer in your review?):

Do you want the story to take place outside of London?

Are there any characters you would REALLY like to see brought into this story? (Remember: I am writing a movie story. So, eventually Moriarty and Mycroft will be there. It never hurts to bring em in early, though!)

How badly do you want Watson to play a main part in the next story? (I can't avoid him not working with Holmes because of the wedding forever…)

And finally; Do you have any ideas as to what Renadale's ex-lover (lol, not that dramatic though) looks like? ;] I just want to see what you guys think.

THANK YOU ALL MUCH FOR READING THESE STORIES. I just came home from a rough day at work, and even one new review makes me the happiest person alive. Don't EVER feel afraid to message me. I'd love to just chat and what not. You guys are the best readers ever. I write everything for you, so critique and suggest, and etc.

Well… The game's afoot!

Infinite Xs and Os, my lovely, lovely readers,

~mistro

P.S. I will probably start responding to personal reviews again in the next story in the A/N. :] Just so you know.


	32. AND YET ANOTHER AUTHOR'S NOTE!

THE NEW STORY IS UP- YAY

Thank you, HeraOfTheStars, for your lovely, lovely review. Thank you all, in fact. I write for you. Keep commenting. I promise to give you a three-quel of utter perfection… Erm, well, at least, no big errors like my other two.

Well. By promise, I mean I'll TRY MY HARDEST. :D

AND USE LOTS OF RESEARCH (GOOGLE). Although, I do have a very large symbol/1800s encyclopedia. So, I should be all set. –adjusts glasses and scoots up to her computer, typing fingers at the ready-

It's go time.


	33. Update!

Hey everyone! The fourth installment of the Holmes Stories has been posted. Please read and review!

Much love

Xx

mistro


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